A Covert Affair

by Susan Mann

  “I like that better. Not quite so scalding shower–worthy.” Just the thought of it made her shiver. “Speaking of our two favorite drug runners, have you heard anything from Ravi?”

  “Yeah. The deal went down just this side of the India-Pakistan border. And it was exactly what Gill said. Heroin, most likely from Afghanistan.”

  “It’s sure looking more and more like Pink Shirt Guy is ISI, doing whatever he can to destabilize Punjab, just like Deputy Superintendent Dhami said.” She crossed her arms. “What do we do with these three?”

  “Ravi already contacted our station in New Delhi. There’s a helicopter in the air to pick up the people he has in custody. These three will catch a ride to a rendezvous point where the helicopter will pick them up.”

  Quinn looked over at the older man lying on the floor. “Do you think Gill is the Falcon?”

  “I don’t know,” he said and ran his hand through his hair. “We haven’t found a shred of evidence that links him to Sharma or the stolen Hindu manuscripts.”

  “I guess our people in New Delhi will find out if he’s the Falcon or not. In the meantime, what do we do with the library books? I don’t want them out of my sight.”

  “I don’t either. We need them secure while the higher-ups use them to negotiate with the Falcon or whatever else they want us to do with them.”

  “I hope they don’t want us to give them to any of the groups around here. I don’t trust them. I’d rather drive the books to the library and put them on the shelves myself. We could load up the Alto. It would take a million trips, but it would be worth it.”

  “I agree.” He stared right through her and rubbed the stubble on his cheek in contemplation. A half minute later, she practically saw the lightbulb blink on over his head. “I have an idea for getting them out of here.”

  “How are we going to manage that? There are dozens of crates, and they’re way too heavy for me to help carry.”

  “We get a little help.” He took out his phone and placed a call. “Ravi, what’s the ETA on the helicopter?” He paused. “After you hand them off, can you round up a couple of big moving trucks?” He listened and said, “I know it’s late. Get them here as soon as you can. We can wait. And bring your friends. We need some muscle. We’ve got a library to move.”

  * * *

  It was four o’clock in the morning when two large moving trucks rumbled down Gill’s street and disappeared into the compound behind the high walls. Gill’s penchant for blocking prying eyes worked in their favor.

  By the time they arrived, Gill, Miss Pragmatic, and Mr. GSW had already been trundled into a large SUV. It never ceased to amaze Quinn how those black, tinted-windowed vehicles could show up anywhere, any time. She pictured one rolling across a sun-kissed beach on a remote tropical island and gliding to a stop in front of some unsuspecting bad guy resplendent in an unfortunate Speedo who believed he was beyond their reach.

  The only redeeming quality of Gill’s was his wish to shield his wife from any repercussions stemming from his illegal activities. Gill had informed James and Quinn that when Miss Pragmatic called him and said two people had broken into his house, he hastily arranged for his wife to spend the night with their daughter, who lived in town. Of course, he only relayed those details after they pointed out the authorities would assume his wife knew about his activities and consider her an accessory. Mrs. Gill would certainly be questioned, as would a lot of other people, but that wasn’t James and Quinn’s concern.

  While they’d waited for the moving trucks to arrive, Quinn had taken pictures and videos of the books to document where they had been found. She had also managed to get in a couple of hours of sleep. Meanwhile, James had scoured through Gill’s computer looking for any evidence of him being the Falcon before handing it off to the men in the SUV. There was plenty to prove he was up to his eyeballs in all kinds of shenanigans to rake in piles of money not only in Punjab, but from the US, Canada, and the UK. He found nothing that connected him to the Falcon or Ambassador Sharma.

  Quinn and James exited the house and watched the trucks come to a stop. Ravi and a US Army Special Forces soldier climbed down from one of the cabs while two more hopped down from the other. The trailer doors opened and nine more soldiers jumped out.

  An officer stepped forward and offered a handshake. “Captain Logan. I hear you need help moving some books.”

  Captain Logan was in his early thirties with closely cropped brown hair under his beret and penetrating green eyes. With his clipped speech and intense, no-nonsense expression, he gave the impression he was a man who got things done.

  “I’m James and this is Quinn.” They took turns shaking the captain’s hand. “And yes, we do need some help. We appreciate it.”

  “Glad to be of assistance. What have we got?”

  Quinn waited outside with Ravi while James took Captain Logan to inspect the contents of the basement. A few minutes later, they returned and the captain started giving orders to his team. “We’ve got at least a hundred metal trunks to move. We’ll work in two teams of six. Two stack crates inside the trailer while the other four haul them upstairs. Two men per trunk. Let’s move.”

  “Ravi and I will carry, too,” James said.

  Four men broke for the backs of the trucks while the other ten tromped into the house. Quinn trailed behind them and felt a little awkward with nothing to do. She could catalog a trunk full of books, but she couldn’t help carry one.

  With nothing else to do, she spectated. Watching ten handsome, burly men carry heavy things back and forth in front of her was in no way a hardship. Only Nicole joining her with a bowl of popcorn would have made it better.

  It didn’t take long for the teams to fall into a rhythm. The moment one pair of men emerged from the basement with a crate, another would scamper down the stairs to haul up the next. And so it went until the basement was empty and the trucks were loaded.

  Only a few hours before, it appeared moving all those trunks was an impossible task. And now in short order, the task was complete. She found it ironic and somehow fitting that the United States Army finished the job the Indian Army began over thirty years before. She was proud to be a part of it.

  “You’ll take it the rest of the way?” Captain Logan asked.

  “We will,” James answered. “Thank you again for your help.”

  “You’re welcome.” He snapped a nod toward Quinn. “Ma’am.” To his team, he said, “Saddle up. Our ride’s incoming.”

  Thirty seconds later, Quinn heard the faint sound of helicopter rotors chopping the air. The Special Forces team assembled behind the gate as it flew closer.

  In the graying morning light, a Chinook helicopter approached. The gate flew open and the team moved out. The Chinook landed in the open field across the street. The entire team piled into the helicopter and lifted off. Its wheels had been on Punjabi soil for a total of sixty seconds.

  “Well, that was impressively efficient,” Quinn said as the Chinook disappeared from sight.

  “You should have seen them when we took those guys down during the rendezvous last night,” Ravi said. “Captain Sanctimonious and Pink Shirt Guy and their men had just started transferring the boxes when Logan and his team had them surrounded. I’m pretty sure a couple of Captain Sanctimonious’s guys wet themselves.”

  Quinn chuckled. “It’s all fun and games until the rifles are pointed at you.”

  “Yup.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” James said. “I gotta think a helicopter landing in the middle of a subdivision might get the neighbor’s attention. My guess is the police will be here soon.”

  “I need to get one more thing before we go,” Quinn said. She ran into the house and raced up the stairs. She sprinted down the hall and skidded to stop at the room with the Guru Granth Sahib. After rolling the coverlet off, she closed the giant book and covered it again. With it resting on her outstretched forearms, she carried it down the stairs. “The Guru calls shotgun.”


  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Quinn bounced when the truck hit a pothole, causing her finger to miss the icon on her phone to end the call. She successfully stabbed the screen on her second attempt and slid it under her thigh. “Meyers said once we get back to the hotel, we’re to hold tight while the powers that be figure out what to do next.”

  “Roger that,” James said. “What did he say when you told him we found the library?”

  She snorted. “He already knew. It seems our overnight shenanigans had the NESA desk hopping. Still, he was his usual effusive and ebullient self,” she said sarcastically. “We got a ‘well done.’”

  “That sounds about right.”

  Within a minute, the truck’s rocking put Quinn to sleep. She woke twenty minutes later when they rumbled into the hotel parking lot. Her eyes were dry and gritty, and her nap had in no way been long enough. But it was better than nothing.

  Ravi went home to shower and change his clothes while the wheels of diplomacy ground away. Quinn and James went to their suite and did the same. Ravi returned a short time later, and the three celebrated the recovery of the library by enjoying breakfast at the hotel. Despite the gash on the inside of Quinn’s mouth and her underlying worry their orders from on high would be something other than returning the books to the Golden Temple, she demolished her breakfast.

  They went back to the suite and waited another agonizing hour before Meyers called. “Quinn, James, and Ravi are here on speaker,” she said. A knot of nerves twisted in her stomach.

  “Our State Department and various Indian ministries have been discussing the disposition of the library books,” Meyers said. “As you would expect, there were a variety of opinions on exactly what that should be. The Indian central government demanded the books be turned over to them in order to secure Ambassador Sharma’s release.”

  That made Quinn grimace. Of course she wanted the ambassador to be freed. She just didn’t trust the government to actually follow through on returning the books. She wouldn’t put it past them to stash the books in the same New Delhi warehouse they’d languished in following Operation Blue Star.

  “Given their history with the library, State was not about to agree to that. Let’s just say that caused a bit of tension.”

  She heaved a sigh in relief.

  “In the end, it was Kavita Sharma who ended the stalemate.”

  “Not that I’m surprised, but how did she do that?” Quinn asked.

  “She pointed out that one, the books never belonged to the Indian government in the first place, and two, if they were the ones who returned the library, their decades-long stance that it had burned would be exposed as a lie.”

  “So what happened?” Ravi asked.

  “Mr. Gill’s story provides a way for the books to be returned immediately and the central government to save face. The books are to be brought to the Golden Temple anonymously, saying Bhindranwale had them moved to a warehouse in Amritsar where they were recently discovered.”

  “I’m glad the books will be going back where they belong,” Quinn said. “But there are plenty of people who will know the part about Bhindranwale hiding the books is a flat-out lie.”

  “The hope is the return of the library will overwhelm that detail,” Meyers said.

  Quinn shrugged, mostly to herself. It rankled, but she couldn’t see a better solution.

  “You are to get the books back to the Golden Temple as soon as possible,” Meyers said. “I’ll let you three plan how best to achieve your objective. Keep me apprised.” The call ended.

  “I don’t like the idea of calling in an anonymous tip to some random person at the Golden Temple and telling them where we parked the trucks,” Quinn said. “What if someone responds the same way Gill did when the CBI called him?”

  James nodded. “You’re right. We need to make sure the handoff is public.”

  “While keeping our involvement in all this quiet,” Quinn said. “I can’t call Harbir Kaur and say, ‘Guess what I found?’”

  “No, but Ravi could call her with an anonymous tip and tell her where the trucks are.”

  “I could write a note spelling out the Bhindranwale/ warehouse angle,” Ravi said. “Leave it with the books.”

  “That should do it,” James said. “Tell her to look for the trucks outside the Golden Temple in an hour. That should give us plenty of time to get there.”

  “Done.”

  Quinn retrieved Harbir’s business card with the library’s phone number and handed it to Ravi.

  He placed the call and, after a brief exchange, muted his phone. “Harbir’s not there today. Should I give them the tip anyway?”

  “Do you have another number for her?” James asked Quinn.

  “No.” She frowned, not thrilled with the idea of giving the information to someone she didn’t know and trust. She rocked forward as sudden inspiration hit. “Hang up. I’ve got an idea.”

  * * *

  Quinn followed the two trucks in the Alto as their caravan unceremoniously crawled through traffic toward the Golden Temple. Unfortunately, the exquisite Guru Granth Sahib on the seat next to her carried no magical properties that could clear a path in the road ahead.

  Even so, the traffic didn’t bother her. The library would soon be back where it belonged.

  They drove to the library side of the Golden Temple complex. She spotted Amarjit Kaur standing on the sidewalk exactly where she had asked her to wait. The trucks drove a short distance beyond Amarjit and pulled over. Quinn stopped the Alto in front of her friend. She shut off the engine, leaned across the center console, and shoved the door open.

  “Hi,” Quinn said. “Hop in.” To free up the seat, she hefted the thick book and set it on her lap.

  Amarjit slid in and faced Quinn. “I am so pleased to see you again. I—” Her smile dropped away when she noticed the book in Quinn’s lap. “Is that a saroop of the Guru Granth Sahib?”

  “Yes. Let me—”

  “You should not be holding it that way.” Amarjit flipped her scarf up over her head. “It is terribly disrespectful.” It was clear she wasn’t happy with Quinn at the moment. “You should not be holding it at all.”

  “I know and I’m sorry. I have no other choice. Please just hear me out. I need your help.”

  “I will not help you sell a stolen saroop.” Amarjit grabbed the door handle and yanked on it.

  Amarjit already had a foot out the door when Quinn said, “No. Please. Wait. It’s not like that at all. This saroop was part . . . is part of the Sikh Reference Library taken away during Operation Blue Star.” Quinn shoved the driver’s seat all the way back, laid the book flat on her lap and opened the front cover. “Read the inscription.”

  Amarjit twisted around and glanced at the page. “Is that really written in the hand of Guru Gobind Singh Ji?”

  “We think so.” Quinn opened to a random page to show Amarjit the illuminations.

  “Where did it come from?” Suspicion still colored her tone.

  “Look, Amarjit. I need you to trust me on this. I can’t get into all the details of why or how, but we found the library. It’s in those two trucks parked up ahead. We’re here to return it. I need your help to do that.”

  Amarjit’s jaw dropped. Her gaze alternated between Quinn and the trucks. “You are sure they are the same books?”

  “We are.” Quinn handed Amarjit Ravi’s letter. “Read this.”

  As Amarjit’s eyes darted back and forth across the page, Quinn watched her astonishment grow. When she finished, she shook her head and asked, “Why do you need my help? Why not tell the leaders this yourself? Or tell Harbir Kaur in the library? She should know first.”

  “I tried contacting Harbir, but she’s not at the library today. And I can’t go up to there because we don’t want to draw any attention to ourselves. You can’t tell anyone about James and me being involved in this. At all.” She gave Amarjit a pointed look. “Ever.”

  Amarjit considered her for a long
moment. “I understand.” She sounded guarded when she asked, “Is Ravi a part of this, too?”

  “Yes and no,” Quinn said. “When we found the books, we called him to help us, just like I called you. He got the trucks and helped us move the crates. And he wrote the letter in Punjabi for us.” Everything she said was true. She just wouldn’t add the part about him being a covert CIA operative.

  “What if they ask how I came to find these things?”

  “Tell them a stranger handed you the letter and told you where to find the saroop and the trucks.”

  Amarjit’s jaw set with resolve. “I will help you. What do you want me to do?”

  “Take the saroop and the letter into the complex. Find someone you trust, a granthi or whoever, and give them to him. Do it in public if you can. And then have him come out here to look through the crates in the trucks. Bring as many people from inside the complex as you can. The more people who know about this, the better. We don’t want anyone else swiping the library and using it for political or financial gain.”

  “No, we do not want that.” Amarjit eyed the book in Quinn’s lap. “I hope I am forgiven for not following the protocols for carrying the Guru.”

  “I think they might let it slide this time.” She closed the book, set it on Amarjit’s lap, and laid the coverlet atop it. “We’ll be watching from a distance. Good luck, and thank you for helping us.”

  “It is my honor to do so.” She looked into Quinn’s face. “Will I see you again?”

  “I hope so. I’m not sure how much longer James and I will be here. We’ll try to see you again before we leave. If not, we’ll definitely stay in touch. I promise.”

  Amarjit smiled. “Yes, I would like that.” She exited the car and set the book on her head. “Good-bye.”

  Unexpected emotion constricted Quinn’s throat. Her voice was hoarse when she said, “Bye.”

  Amarjit turned and walked toward the entrance to the complex.

  Ten minutes later, Amarjit and a cluster of men reemerged. James and Ravi jumped down from the cabs of their respective trucks, removed the padlocks from the backs, and sprinted toward the Alto. James climbed into the passenger seat while Ravi dove into the back.