Fatal Thunder: A Jerry Mitchell Novel (26 page)

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.

5 April 2017

1145 EST

White House Situation Room

Washington, D.C.

Frustration, exasperation, vexation …
Patterson mentally ran down the list of synonyms for her feelings as she paced impatiently around the conference table. She just couldn’t comprehend how a national leader could be so blasé about something so serious. Did he just not get it? Lloyd was sympathetic, but his explanation earlier that morning did nothing to make her feel any better.

“President Handa
is
making a compromise, Joanna,” argued Lloyd. “We’ll brief him today, but it will be after sunset, his time, so he can complete most of his religious obligations. The fact that he’s agreed to listen to us at all today is a major concession.”

“Potentially a very costly one, Mr. Secretary. I’m quite certain Admiral Dhankhar has made very good use of the thirty hours this delay has cost us!”

*   *   *

Ten minutes before noon the secure VTC links between the three locations were synchronized and the audio and video channels checked. Patterson could see Olson, Samant, and Petrov on the left-hand screen. On the right-hand screen were the deputy chief of mission and the naval attaché. Ambassador Robert Eldridge had gone to greet President Handa at the embassy’s main entrance. The ambassador had warned Secretary Lloyd that the Indian president was irritated with the “ill-timed summons,” and that only the promised presence of President Myles at the meeting had convinced the Indian to cut short his holiday.

The Indians were still grateful to the Americans for clearing them as the source of the Kashmir explosion. The ambassador had used that to his advantage to convince the Indian leadership that they really needed to come to the U.S. embassy and listen to what those “same Americans” had to say. The kindest Indian reaction had been “This better be important.” Lloyd reassured Eldridge that the information the U.S. government was going to provide would be worth the diplomatic capital expended.

Patterson looked again at her notes. She knew the content by heart, but the flow of the briefing had been modified and she wanted to make sure she stayed on script. Myles had insisted that she present the information to the Indian president. A scientist, not a diplomat, had to be the messenger. The president also wanted to keep Petrov and Samant offscreen at first. Their presence had “shock value” for President Myles, and he wanted to use that shock to drive home their difficult message to Handa. It was critical that they apply the blow at the right time; thus, Samant and Petrov would not be brought on until after the evidence had been presented.

With five minutes to go, President Myles walked into the situation room and greeted his staff. He then dismissed everyone not participating in the VTC. Only four people would be in view during the virtual meeting. Myles didn’t want to overwhelm the Indian contingent by sheer force of numbers. A couple of minutes later, the naval attaché gestured to the screen and said, “Stand by.”

Myles signaled for everyone to stand. The secretaries of defense and state flanked the president, while Joanna stood offset behind Lloyd.

“Attention on deck!” sang out the navy captain.

Joanna watched as Eldridge appeared on the screen, followed by four Indians. Handa was tall for an Indian, and easily stood out from the rest of his countrymen. His face was weathered, with deep furrows on his forehead, and while he had most of his hair, it was snowy white and cropped short. The tightly clipped white goatee complemented his sharp facial features, giving him an air of authority. He carefully positioned himself in the center of the table and gave the traditional Indian greeting of “Namaste” with a slight bow. Joanna noticed the restrained frown and pursed lips. The man was not happy.

Myles reciprocated by putting the palms of his hands together, bowing, and repeating the word “Namaste.” Then, speaking carefully, he greeted the Indian head of state.

“President Handa, I very much appreciate your presence here this evening, and I regret having to take you away from your family during this special holiday. I know it is a considerable sacrifice on your part, but I would not insist on this video conference if the matter were not of the utmost urgency and importance.”

The Indian took a deep breath, pausing to keep his emotions in check. “President Myles, I must admit that I’m not in a particularly pleasant mood. The observance of the Festival of Ram Navami challenges us to focus our attention on our family—being together, fasting and praying, is vital to our future happiness and prosperity. And to break with those sacred activities prematurely is … most annoying.

“Ambassador Eldridge has been steadfast is his urgings that I come to the U.S. embassy to hear your concerns about this so-called nuclear crisis. I’m not accustomed to being summoned by a foreign government in my own country, nor do I appreciate being instructed as to whom can accompany me.”