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.