Rising Tiger: A Thriller (100)

“Have they briefed you on anything coming out of Durrani’s interrogation?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard about Kamal Khan. That floored me.”

“You never know in this business.”

“So true,” she replied. “Special Group is hitting the safe house he’s in tonight. They’re going to attempt to capture him and the directed-energy weapon.”

“Hopefully,” said Harvath, “they’ll be successful.”

“I hope so, too.”

There was a pause in the conversation, before Asha added, “I also want to thank you for putting the tourniquet on and getting me to the hospital.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m sorry you had to be the bullet sponge.”

Asha smiled. “I think that guy has an issue with strong, confident women,” she joked.

Harvath laughed. “I agree. So, what about you?” he asked, changing the subject. “What’s next?”

“Besides some serious desk duty? Let’s see,” she responded, ticking the items off one at a time on her fingers. “Right off the bat, there’s a high-jump competition tomorrow and then I have the New Delhi Marathon on Sunday.”

Harvath laughed again. “Good. Something to do and something to look forward to.”

“All I need now is that third thing.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Vijay reentered the kitchen with one of his most handsome sons in tow. “Okay,” he stated, “who’s looking for a martini that will absolutely change their life?”





CHAPTER 63


ROMANIA

TWO WEEKS LATER

On a gravel road outside of Bucharest, the headlights from three SUVs sliced through the darkness. A cold front was coming.

When the icy winds met the warm Dambovi?a River, curtains of swirling, spectral fog would be born. Colonel Yang Xin wanted to be back on his plane and wheels up before that happened. He did not want to get grounded at the airport—especially not when transporting such sensitive cargo.

He couldn’t believe what a colossal mess everything had become. Operations sometimes went sideways, but this one had gone sideways, backed up and run over itself, and then had gone sideways all over again.

Not only had Carbon completely fallen off the grid, but so had Durrani. No one had heard from him—not even his superiors at the ISI back in Islamabad.

Then, finally, word came. It wasn’t good. Indian intelligence, specifically those bastards at RAW, were onto Kamal Khan. Durrani claimed to have no idea who had tipped them or what Khan may have done to draw their attention. He’d had to choose between saving Khan or saving the weapon. He had chosen to save the weapon. For that Yang was grateful. But his gratitude was short-lived and, he soon learned, misplaced.

Concerned that Khan would eventually break and tell the Indian authorities everything, Durrani had fled.

He couldn’t go back to Pakistan. India was going to demand his head on a platter. To avoid war, the Pakistanis would either hand him over or kill him themselves.

Durrani alleged to have headed to Bucharest because of his contacts within Romanian intelligence. Yang knew better. He had chosen it because of his obscene, inhuman sexual proclivities.

The ISI operative had decided that he was going into early retirement and he made it crystal clear that he expected Beijing to fund it. He would ransom their own directed-energy weapon back to them.

The payment he demanded was exorbitant. The window to close the transaction far too short. And the terms were near to unacceptable. He had twisted Yang’s arm up and behind his back so far that you could hear the cartilage popping and the sinew tearing as he wrenched it from its proverbial socket.

But it was nothing compared to what Beijing would do to him if he lost the weapon. Durrani had been quite forthright about his willingness to sell it to the highest bidder, which likely meant the Americans. In short, Yang had been given no choice. Assembling a team, he had sprung into action. And now here he was.

Using elements from the Chinese Embassy in Bucharest, he’d had the location for the meeting placed under surveillance. Nothing unusual had been observed.

Riding next to him in his SUV was the scientist who had assembled the weapon and had taught Khan how to use it. Yang wasn’t about to hand over any money without a one hundred percent positive confirmation that they were getting the actual weapon back and not some facsimile thereof.

If it were up to him, Yang would have much preferred to double-cross Durrani and have a member of his security detail put a bullet in him.

The Pakistani, however, had anticipated this possibility and had gone into lengthy detail about the information he had buttoned down. Like a suicide bomber, should he be captured or killed, his thumb would come off the button and there’d be an explosion of blackmail material laying out everything he had been doing for the Chinese.

Yang’s only way out of this was to verify the weapon, hand over the money, and get the hell out of Romania before any new misfortune popped up and tried to fuck him over.

Pulling onto the farm property, they rolled past the house, as instructed, and toward the barn. Seeing their approach, Durrani opened the large barn doors.

The convoy came to a halt and Yang’s security detail debussed first. After patting the Pakistani down for weapons, they conducted a sweep of the perimeter.