Page 43 of Rising Tiger

The man smiled. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Sliding it into the player, Harvath cued up the band’s breakout hit, “Pick Up the Pieces.”

As the saxophones began to play and Vijay sped up to pass the car in front of him, Harvath could have sworn he heard the man whisper under his breath, “Best R-and-B songever.”

CHAPTER 24

Retracing Ritter’s path from the park to the restaurant proved uneventful. A couple of times, Harvath had Vijay stop the car so he could check for extra cameras in certain spots that the DST might have missed, but they had been thorough and didn’t seem to have missed any.

Arriving at the Tansukh, Vijay politely declined the table that was offered them and pointed out the one he wanted. It was in the back corner, near an exit, with a view of everything—the exact table Harvath would have picked. The waitress walked the men over, waited until they had sat down, and then handed them each a menu.

Harvath took one look and immediately set his on the table.

“Pictures too confusing?” Vijay joked. “Or is the English too complicated?”

“More like too overwhelming.”

“Like I said, my job is to help out however I can. Do you want me to make some suggestions?”

“Please,” said Harvath.

“Most important question—is there anything you won’t eat?”

Back in Dushanbe, Leahy—who had been to India before—gave Harvath a rundown of things to avoid if he wanted to remain “operational.”

“Nothing raw. No rice.” Rice, Leahy had explained, was notoriously bad for cultivating bacteria. Uncooked fruits or vegetables, which mighthave been washed in tainted tap water, were also off-limits, as were ice cubes. Bottled water was the only way to hydrate.

“Got it,” Vijay answered. “How are you with spicy foods?”

Harvath smiled. “I grew up less than twenty miles from the Mexican border. I can handle spicy food.”

Vijay cocked a challenging eyebrow at him. “Are you sure?”

“Something tells me we’re going to find out,” said Harvath, cocking one right back.

When the waiter came over, Vijay ordered everything in Hindi. At the very end, he added, in English, “And a large portion of yogurt for my friend. Just in case.”

The ex-cop was trying to mess with his head. Harvath simply smiled in return. Leahy had warned him that some Indian dishes were so far off the Scoville scale that they should come with a skull-and-crossbones warning. Should you suffer the misfortune of stumbling into one of those dishes, the best antidote was yogurt. Harvath didn’t know what Vijay had planned, but it looked like they might be pushing the culinary envelope.

As a rule, Harvath didn’t drink while he was working, but when Vijay asked if he’d like to have a beer with him, he had said yes. A bit of social lubricant could go a long way in cementing a relationship with a source.

“Do you like a good IPA?” the man had asked.

“An India Pale Ale?” Harvath responded. “Sure.”

“Do you know where the name comes from?”

“To be honest, not really. I’m more of a lager guy.”

“It comes from the Brits,” he explained. “They used to have their beer shipped to India from England. That can be a pretty rough voyage, and in the beginning a lot of their beer spoiled. So brewers began experimenting. They made it more alcoholic and increased their use of hops. It resulted in a bitter but more aromatic beer that could safely make the journey. The British soldiers, in particular, loved it.”

With Harvath’s permission, Vijay ordered them each a popular, made-in-India IPA called White Rhino.

When the beers arrived, they said “Cheers,” clinked bottles, and took a drink. Harvath, being a lager guy, was pleasantly surprised by the flavor.It was smooth and not bitter at all. He said a small prayer and crossed his fingers that Vijay would perform as well on the food he had ordered.

The plates came out in waves. Laal Mass, a lamb dish in a tangy red chili sauce. Keema Baati, a deep-fried minced-meat pastry with fresh green chilies and green peas. Jaipuri Chicken, a chicken made with curry, cream, and lots of gravy.

They were all delicious. While the heat varied from dish to dish, there was nothing that Harvath couldn’t handle. He was beginning to think he was going to make it through unscathed, when the waiter appeared with a fourth item.

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