by Larry Bond
As the Russian approached, the admiral motioned toward the elevator. Dhankhar selected the top floor and the Infinity restaurant. He remained silent as the elevator ascended. When the doors opened, Kirichenko immediately felt better about the venue. The restaurant was a glass-enclosed space on top of the hotel that offered a phenomenal view of the Bay of Bengal. There were many tables open, as the lunch rush had just ended, and Dhankhar chose one close to the glass wall and well away from the remaining diners.
After Kirichenko sat, Dhankhar said simply, “The torpedo shop was broken into last night.”
“Wh—” Kirichenko managed to suppress his initial outburst, but the alarm and surprise showed on his face.
“Two men. They Maced the sentry and tied him up, then rummaged through the place. They sabotaged all the power tools as well. Orlav’s spending precious hours this morning scrounging replacements from all over the shipyard.”
Kirichenko listened uncomprehendingly, still digesting the news. Dhankhar could almost see the wheels turning as the information sank in. “If they saw what was in there…”
“Which they most certainly did, and quite likely photographed everything! Thank heaven the devices were in the secure storage vault. It was probably Petrov, with an Indian accomplice according to the guard; the man was in an Indian naval uniform—a captain. They probably tried to get into the vault, but evidently didn’t have the code. They did have the code for the door to the shop itself. They are resourceful,” he admitted.
Kirichenko said unbelievingly, “Discovery…”
“Discovery is the disaster we have all feared, and their actions were no doubt precipitated by your subordinate. As a security operative, Churkin was less than effective. In fact, our security became decidedly worse since his arrival. Did you know the other body found in the basin was the SVR agent, Ruchkin? I’ve been able to suppress the release of this information on the grounds that we can’t alert the criminal. But I can’t keep this hidden for very long, perhaps a week. I’ve also called in some favors from sympathetic friends. I have CBI looking for Petrov and his associate on presumed charges, but if they are as clever as they seem, it’s probably too late.” Dhankhar’s scowl deepened.
He gestured toward the newspaper and turned it so Kirichenko could see the front page. “In fact, I was just checking the front page of the Hindu for any articles about us. It would be quite the scoop!” His anger, so carefully controlled, finally surfaced, and he whipped the newspaper at the Russian, aiming for his face.
Kirichenko easily blocked the attack, but not the fury behind it. Dhankhar’s tirade had given him time to process the news and understand their very grave situation. His first fear wasn’t arrest or incarceration. There were few ties between him and the Indian conspiracy, and he was always ready for a quick escape.
But he couldn’t abandon the project. Without Dhankhar’s payment, he was out of business. His small network of informants and helpers depended on steady payments, or it would evaporate—or, worse, turn against him. He’d hoped to keep Churkin’s share of the money and put it to good use, but then he’d had to use half of it to keep that idiot Orlav in line. He’d done so much already, and was ready to do anything to get paid. He’d take care of Petrov and his accomplice himself.
Kirichenko asked, “Where are they now?”
“Out of sight, and well beyond your capabilities,” Dhankhar answered. “Don’t even think of attacking them again,” he warned sternly. “All you’ve done is trip over your own feet.”
“We have to do something!” Kirichenko countered. He spoke softly, but Dhankhar heard fear mixed with his intensity.
“What you are going to do is assist Orlav. This latest catastrophe has slowed him down, and put us all on borrowed time. I don’t care whether it’s wiring circuits or making coffee, get in that shop and do whatever you need to help him finish. I’ve spent most of the morning speaking to Mitra and others at the shipyard. They’ll have Chakra ready to sail at ten hundred hours on the seventh. I will come to the shop at zero seven hundred hours. I’ll expect to see five completed torpedoes, ready for loading. And no more prorating. Unless I see five, you won’t get a single kopek. That’s the only language you seem to understand—money.”
Dhankhar sat back in his chair. Kirichenko was silent for a moment, but when he began to speak, the admiral cut him off sharply. “We are finished. Get out.”
Retrieving the newspaper, he barely noticed when Kirichenko left.
11
ALARM RAISED
4 April 2017
1400 Local Time
En Route to U.S. Consulate General
Hyderabad, India
* * *
Petrov kept gazing out the window as the SUV slowly arced off of National Highway 9. The traffic had been unexpectedly heavy since early morning and their progress had been agonizingly slow; they were already two hours late. Now the traffic was getting even more congested and the frustrated driver decided to take an alternate route to the consulate. Stiff and achy, the Russian shifted his body gently, trying to find a more comfortable position. His bruised left side was not pleased with being strapped in a car for twelve hours and it was protesting. As he leaned against the doorjamb, his eyes caught sight of a huge medieval-looking building. It seemed out of place; its size and ancient European architecture was in stark contrast to the modern buildings that surrounded it.
“That’s Amrutha Castle,” Samant volunteered quietly. “It’s a hotel, and a reasonable one at that. The regular rooms are a little on the small side, but that shouldn’t bother an old submariner like you.” A thin fatigued smile was on his face.
“Well, it certainly looks impressive,” said Petrov. A sudden yawn interrupted his next words. Yielding to it, he stretched himself carefully before asking, “Did you have a good nap?”
Samant shook his head, extending his back as much as he could with his seat belt on. “Not really. I dozed in and out over the last six hours or so. This isn’t the most comfortable of vehicles to sleep in, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the chaos our visit will cause. Dhankhar must surely know who broke into the torpedo shop by now. He’ll be livid, of course, but he will also be afraid. That makes him even more dangerous.”
“We took the best shot with what we had, Girish,” Petrov replied firmly. “And it was as good as we could have hoped for. I think you’re just impatient at having to wait so long to see the results of our shot. Torpedoes are a lot quicker at telling you if they hit or missed their target.”
Samant grinned. “I suppose you are right. But disengaging as we did also means we are out of contact with our target, and that concerns me.”
“Gentlemen, pardon the interruption,” interjected McFadden, “but we are almost there. The consulate is just on the other side of Hussain Sagar Lake, and we should arrive in about ten minutes.”
Without thinking, Petrov turned his head a little too quickly, and a jolt of pain shot up his left side. “That’s good to hear, Mr. McFadden,” he gasped. “I think I’ve had just about enough of this.”
McFadden nodded. “Understood, sir. We’ll have a doctor take a look at your injuries as soon as we can. The Consul General, Mr. Erik Olson, would like to meet with you first and fill you in on the president’s intentions.”
“Has Dr. Patterson said anything more about the photos we sent her?” asked Samant.
“No, Captain. The last message I received from her said they had successfully downloaded all the files. The pictures were clear, the content excellent, and that they’d be working all night putting together the case to present to the Indian government. That was…” McFadden glanced at his smartphone, noting the time of Patterson’s e-mail. “… six o’clock our time this morning.”
“That’s eight hours ago!” grumbled Samant. “I would certainly hope more has been done since then!”
“I’m confident of that, sir, but Dr. Patterson gave explicit orders that there would be no further discussions on this issue until yo
u and Captain Petrov were safely within the consulate. That’s why we are meeting with the consul general as soon as we arrive.”
Samant grunted his understanding and leaned back into his seat. Edgy with impatience, he struggled to keep his mind occupied for the last few minutes and looked out onto the man-made lake. As soon as he did, he found himself staring directly at the eighteen-meter sculpture of Gautama Buddha atop a small island just offshore. The serene face of the “enlightened one” had a calming effect on Samant, and although he was not particularly religious, he took it as a good omen. Silently, he offered up a short prayer for a favorable outcome to the “whole bloody mess.”
The SUV looped around the north side of the lake and then veered off the highway onto a busy side street. A half mile later the driver took an abrupt hard left onto a quieter avenue. Petrov saw McFadden look behind him to the security guard. The man was watching out the back window; a thumbs-up gesture signaled the all-clear. After another quick turn to the right, McFadden checked again and then spoke into his radio. Up ahead, Petrov saw a large gate begin to open. Barely slowing to check for oncoming traffic, the driver burst across the street and into the covered security checkpoint. As the vehicle screeched to a stop, the large reinforced gate closed behind them.
“Welcome to the U.S. Consulate General in Hyderabad, gentlemen,” said McFadden as he showed the Marine guard his identification. After a quick inspection of the vehicle, the inner gate was opened and the SUV drove up to the main entrance of Paigah Palace. Petrov took in the striking view as they swung around the driveway. The castle was a large two-story building with an extravagant portico supported by three tall semicircular arches. The architecture was definitely European; he’d seen buildings with similar facades in St. Petersburg.
As soon as the SUV came to a stop, Petrov unbuckled himself and swung open the door. Cautiously ducking the doorframe, he slowly extracted himself from the abusive vehicle, and just as carefully began walking over to Samant and McFadden. It hurt to walk, but it was a good hurt. His body delighted in finally being able to stretch out fully. A small group of people, led by a rather hefty man, was exiting the palace and quickly approached them.
“Captain Samant, Captain Petrov, welcome to the United States Consulate in Hyderabad. I’m Erik Olson, Consul General.” The large man offered each of them his hand in turn, then motioned to the front door. “This way, please.”
Filing into the building, they walked down an ornate grand hallway toward the main conference room. Samant was impressed by the decor, but he couldn’t miss the stacks of sealed boxes and loose packing materials. Passing by several very busy offices, he found it curious that he didn’t see a single Indian employee. He knew diplomatic missions usually hired locals to help with the administrative, cooking, and cleaning duties. As they were ushered into the conference room, Olson pointed toward a table with some refreshments.
“Please, help yourself to tea, coffee, or water. I hope sandwiches and salad are acceptable. I’m afraid our food service is a bit limited this week.”
Petrov and Samant both eagerly grabbed something to eat. They’d stopped a couple of times during the trip to Hyderabad, but that was only for fuel and other absolutely necessary human functions. Snacks were, of course, available, but both wanted a more substantial meal.
Samant loaded up a full plate and picked up a cup of tea. Carefully carrying his lunch to the conference table, looking toward the consul general, he asked, “Mr. Olson, I couldn’t help but notice all the boxes in the hallway and offices. Are you moving?”
“Yes, Captain. You may not be aware, but the United States has only leased Paigah Palace while a new consulate compound was constructed in Gachibowli—fifteen kilometers to the west as the crow flies. We begin moving in later this week. Needless to say, it has been utter chaos here. But the secure video teleconference system is still hooked up and we’ll be able to link you in when Secretary Lloyd briefs President Handa on the information you’ve obtained.”
“And when will that be?” asked Petrov as he sat down with his meal.
“We really don’t know, Captain,” Olson replied sheepishly. “You see, the ambassador is having a difficult time reaching either President Handa or Foreign Secretary Jadeja.”
Both Samant and Petrov stopped eating and looked at Olson with confusion and concern. Neither could understand why it would be so difficult to reach the Indian president or his foreign minister.
Seeing their stunned expressions, Olson quickly explained, “They are both taking some personal time to celebrate the Festival of Ram Navami tomorrow with their families, and are currently out of the capital. The Indian government is largely shut down for the next few days.”
Samant let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed his face with both hands. How could he have zoned out so completely as to overlook such an important Hindu holiday? No wonder he hadn’t seen any of his countrymen in the consulate. They had all been let go early to be with their families. In the back of his mind, he could hear his mother lecturing him … again.
“I don’t understand,” said Petrov, still perplexed.
“Ram Navami is the culmination of a nine-day period called Navratri,” Samant injected. “It commemorates the birth of Lord Rama, one of the most revered deities in Hinduism. Since this day also marks Rama’s marriage to his wife Sita, the holiday period places great emphasis on the family.”
“And as President Handa and Foreign Secretary Jadeja are conservative Hindus, they take religious festivals such as this very seriously,” Olson said. “It’s unlikely we’ll have the briefing today, and unfortunately, tomorrow may not be much better. The ambassador is over at the Ministry of External Affairs as we speak pushing for an audience, but one cannot drag a head of state to a meeting if he doesn’t want to come.” Olson shrugged his shoulders.
Petrov was awestruck, Samant quietly resigned. They’d risked so much to get the information to the Americans, and now the Indian president was going to put off even listening to the evidence because of a holiday! It’s not that Petrov had anything against religious or national holidays—he loved the Christmas season—but given that the very future of India was at stake, religious holiday or not, an elected leader needed to put the well-being of the nation ahead of his own personal desires. Fueled by fatigue, his anger slowly bubbled to the surface. Dropping into his old ways, Petrov spoke with the voice of an irritated, seasoned navy captain.
“Then Mr. Olson, I strongly recommend that more direct language be used to convey the urgency of the situation. I realize that diplomatic conversation tends to be more polite, but every hour we delay gives our adversaries time to finish their preparations. And God help us if Chakra sails before we can stop them.”
The intensity in Petrov’s eyes reinforced the sternness of his voice. Olson’s surprised expression showed that he had gotten the message loud and clear. “Yes, Captain, I’ll forward your recommendation immediately, emphasizing the time factor.”
“Good. When can we speak to Dr. Patterson?”
“Once we knew there wouldn’t be a meeting with President Handa today, she went home to sleep. Her e-mail said she’d be back in the office by about six thirty A.M. Washington time; that’s still a couple of hours from now,” Olson responded.
Petrov nodded with frustration. The time zones were an unfortunate fact of life. There was nothing that they could do right now, but the thought of just sitting around waiting, wasting time, was maddening.
“In the meantime, we have prepared rooms for you. I’m sure you could use some rest. I don’t know about you, but I find it impossible to sleep soundly in a car,” said Olson, motioning to one of his staff.
The young woman that came forward was petite in size, but athletic in appearance. Her dark eyes, fair complexion, and fiery-red hair were an unusual but attractive combination, at least as far as Samant was concerned. “This is my administrative assistant, Ms. Shereen Massoud, she’ll show you to your rooms and will answer any questions you may
have about the consulate’s facilities. I’ll be sure to let you know when Dr. Patterson is available.”
Olson then excused himself; he said he needed to pass Petrov’s recommendation up his chain of command. Massoud politely greeted the guests, then sat down as they finished eating. Petrov brooded silently as he mindlessly chewed on his sandwich, still struggling with the disappointing news. Samant was gloomy, but he wasn’t as affected as his Russian friend. He’d seen important tasks move slowly before. Recognizing that they were being rude, Samant politely exchanged small talk with the young woman while he finished his meal.
“How long have you been stationed in India?” he asked.
“A little over two years,” Massoud replied. “It’s been a great tour, and I’ve learned a lot, but I am looking forward to getting back home.”
“Homesick, are we?”
“Sort of, sir.” Massoud looked a little uncomfortable. “Sure, I miss my family, but, honestly, I’m not a big fan of the spicy food. And it’s hard to find a good hamburger in a country where the cow is considered sacred. However, your country has a killer lemonade.”
“Ah, so you like Panaka?” Samant chuckled as he referred to the lemon-based drink made with jaggery and pepper.
“Hell, yeah!” exclaimed Massoud. Immediately regretting her outburst, she rushed her hand to her mouth. Blushing, she apologized, “Excuse me, I mean, yes, sir.”
Samant laughed out loud, and even Petrov had to smile over the young lady’s enthusiastic response. With their meal finished, Massoud showed the two men their rooms. Samant was duly impressed with the suite; it was almost as big as his apartment in Vizag. While inspecting the bathroom he spied the shower—the very thought of hot water washing over him was seductive. He sat on the bed and slowly removed his shoes; he then lay down and stretched his weary body out fully on the mattress. I’ll just rest here for a minute, Samant thought. He didn’t make it to the shower.