Rising Tiger: A Thriller (18)

“But this is a letter of resignation.”

“I know what it is,” he replied, dyspeptic as ever. “Sign it.”

“I don’t understand. I haven’t done anything wrong. Is this some kind of a joke?”

“It is not,” he responded, removing his pen and pushing it toward her. “You have been given a direct order. Quit asking questions. Sign the document.”

Several moments passed. Then, slowly, she picked up the pen and scratched out her signature.

Securing the cap, she passed the pen back to him, along with the piece of paper ending her career.

Raj took out his phone and showed her a photograph. “Do you recognize this location?”

Dumbfounded and trying to process what was going on, Asha nodded.

“I want you to clean out your office. There’s already a security team waiting to accompany you. Only take what you can carry. Drop everything back at your apartment and then meet me in an hour. Do you understand?”

How could she? Against her will, she had just been forced to resign. None of this made any sense. What the hell was going on?

“I’ll explain everything in an hour,” her boss continued. “In the meantime, I want you to be very careful. Don’t talk to anyone. And even more important, don’t trust anyone.”

Asha nodded once more. It was the only response she could manage.

“Good,” Raj replied. Standing up, he put his hand on her shoulder. “Keep eyes in the back of your head. Do not, under any circumstances, let your guard down.”

With that final warning, he left the conference room.





CHAPTER 11


The photo on Raj’s phone was of a multistory concrete office building approximately fifteen minutes’ walk from RAW headquarters.

It was part of a complex of buildings that sat, surrounded by trees, at the southwest corner of the Delhi Golf Club. Next door, a mere one hundred meters through the woods, stood the stunning Oberoi—one of the finest and most luxurious hotels in the city.

By contrast, the Blind Relief Association of Delhi was quite plain. Most people passed without even noticing it.

Its buildings were nothing special. Neither were its grounds. The true beauty was to be found inside.

With more than eight million visually impaired people, India was home to a quarter of the world’s blind population. The Blind Relief Association of Delhi existed to help them “develop their latent talents and realize their fullest potential.”

It was begun in the 1940s by a local couple who wanted to do more than create a charity. They wanted to give India’s visually impaired purpose, self-confidence, and fulfillment. The facility provided vocational training for a wide swath of industries—from textile manufacturing and massage therapy, to furniture-making and call center staffing.

In addition to job placement and ongoing support, the organization offered medical care, secondary school education, and tireless, around-the-clock advocacy. There was no more noble, nor greater, friend to India’s visually impaired.

But as wonderful as the organization was, Asha had no idea why Raj had requested that she meet him there. It was a highly unusual location.

Even so, she had done as her boss had requested. She cleaned out her desk, endured the humiliating escort out of the building, and took the cardboard box filled with her belongings back to her apartment.

As instructed, she spoke with no one. She kept her head on a swivel and was careful as hell. Whatever was going on, it had to be massive. There was no other way to explain all of the subterfuge.

After changing into street clothes, she lifted up her shirt and placed a Glock 19, with an inside-the-waistband holster and a spare magazine holder, into her jeans. If things were bad enough that she wasn’t supposed to trust anyone, she definitely wasn’t going anywhere unarmed.

She grabbed a nondescript backpack and threw in a few appearance-altering items like a hat, sunglasses, and a jacket. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she left the apartment.

Delhi was different in so many ways from Mumbai, where she had grown up. It was the capital of India and the center of politics and culture. With more than eighteen thousand parks, there were green spaces—and birds—everywhere. At the same time, the air pollution was some of the worst in the world and crime was so bad, many people would go out only at night if they were in a group. It was also very, very crowded.

Even in the middle of the day, the streets and sidewalks of Delhi were packed. It made it almost impossible to tell if you were being followed. Asha, however, had been trained by the best and knew what to do.

She threaded her way through multiple bustling neighborhoods. Cars honked and motorbikes buzzed past. With it being Diwali, the air was filled with the delicious aroma of feasts being prepared.

Intricate works of art made with brilliantly colored powder and fine sand, known as rangolis, could be seen everywhere.

In houses and businesses, offerings were being made to Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity and wealth.

All of these sights, sounds, and smells were enough to overwhelm a person’s senses. Nevertheless, Asha maintained her focus and used all of her tricks to flush out anyone who might have been following her. She didn’t see anything that gave her pause.

The only thing that caught her attention was a television, inside a shop, that was broadcasting reports of a helicopter that had gone down in the southern Indian state of Tamil Nadu.