Page 39 of Rising Tiger

“That sounds like a plan.”

They left the airport via the cargo terminal, where, via his diplomatic passport, Harvath was sped through customs and immigration.

Parked outside was Vijay’s 1990s-era Jaguar XJS convertible in British racing green. It was so clean that even under the lights of the parking lot, it shone like a mirror. It was obvious that he took very good care of it.

“Nice car,” said Harvath. “How was the drive from New Delhi?”

“Not bad. It’s only three and a half hours. I have a cousin in Behror, which is about halfway. We had a cup of tea together.”

Popping the trunk, he stood aside so that Harvath could place his bag inside and then closed the lid and asked, “Top up or down?”

It was a beautiful, warm evening. “Top down,” Harvath replied.

“Excellent choice. Because of Diwali, you will see lots of fireworks.”

The man hadn’t been kidding. There had been tons of them. It was the ultimate way to be introduced to a city.

They made small talk along the way, with Vijay acting the proud tour guide, pointing out places of interest and providing a brief history of Jaipur. It was the first planned city in India, but it was the story behind its becoming the “Pink City” that was so fascinating. In 1876, the Prince of Wales and Queen Victoria were coming for a state visit. The maharaja who ruled Jaipur decreed that all of its buildings should be painted pink—the color believed to represent hospitality and vibrancy—and that same tradition was still being followed nearly a century and a half later. Indians were a proud people, Vijay explained, and tradition was very important to them.

Harvath good-naturedly asked if that commitment to tradition also applied to car stereos. “I can’t remember the last time I saw a CD player in the wild,” he joked.

Reaching behind his seat, Vijay pulled out a black nylon CD wallet and handed it to him. “You are my guest, so I will let you choose the music.”

Harvath was a bit uncomfortable, yet oddly interested to see what CDs the ex-cop had inside. Taking the plunge, he opened it up and began flipping through the translucent sleeves. He was shocked to find one he had owned himself.

“Earth, Wind and Fire?” he queried, pulling it out.

“You’re familiar with them?” Vijay asked.

Harvath laughed. “After George Clinton and Parliament, one of the best funk bands ever.”

The ex-cop clucked and shook his head. “Most definitely not. They are an R-and-B band. Everyone knows this.”

“Everyone?”

“Yes, and this is the problem with you funk people. You want to plant your flag everywhere. I am here to tell you that the R-and-B world will hear nothing of it.”

This guy was a legit piece of work. “Okay,” Harvath replied. “Out of respect, as your guest, I’m not going to have this fight with you.”

“Because you know I’m right.”

Harvath laughed again and removed the CD from the sleeve. Inserting it into the CD player, he pushedPLAYand settled back.

As the iconic vocoder opening of “Let’s Groove” slid out of the Jaguar’s speakers, Harvath realized he had been wrong. FireworksandEarth, Wind & Fire was the ultimate way to be introduced to a city.

Harvath played DJ the rest of the way to the Fairmont, selecting as much funk music as he could find in Vijay’s CD wallet. And to be fair, he had to hand it to the man, there was a good amount of it—the S.O.S. Band, Kool & the Gang, and even the Bar-Kays—all of whom Vijay argued were R&B and most definitely not funk.

When they arrived at the perimeter of the hotel, they were greeted by a security checkpoint. Two guards in berets checked the vehicle, including using a mirror to inspect the undercarriage. Satisfied that neither the Jaguar nor its occupants posed any threat, one of the guards removed the metal bollard just ahead of them and waved them in.

Harvath had stayed at a lot of beautiful hotels in his time, but the Fairmont Jaipur was like a palace.

They entered through a massive archway with two towering wooden doors studded with rivets and strips of iron.

There was an ornate courtyard surrounded by high walls and lit by torches. As they pulled up to the main entrance, two men in crisp, blue- and-white uniforms with red turbans were playing enormous drums known asnagada.

Another, on a balcony high above the front doors, dropped rose petals to welcome the new guests.

A fourth staff member met the car when it came to a stop. His white uniform was accented with cream-colored cuffs, epaulets, and a sash. Atop his head was a brilliant orange turban, a piece of which had beenallowed to hang behind him, almost to the ground. Unlike the two, who were clean-shaven, this man had the biggest mustache Harvath had ever seen.

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