Rising Tiger: A Thriller (28)
His finger hovered for a moment over the list titled “Great American Songbook.” But the likes of Nat King Cole and Dinah Washington wasn’t exactly what he was in the mood for at the moment. He wanted something with more passion, more power. Opera was what he wanted. And not just any opera.
He tapped the playlist of his favorite arias and turned the volume way up. Soon the overhead speakers began to rumble as “Ebben? Ne andrò lontana” from Alfredo Catalani’s La Wally tumbled lusciously from them.
Taking a sip of champagne, the little man drew a custom stepladder up to the island and got down to the business of preparing his meal.
* * *
Two hours later, after he had eaten and had let the dogs out, he stood at his liquor cabinet, trying to decide what he would have for an after-dinner drink. He was reminded of the line by Samuel Johnson, “Claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy,” and selected his rare bottle of Louis XIII Black Pearl.
The cognac came from a single cask of the Hériard Dubreuil family’s private cellar. Only 775 bottles, made out of Baccarat crystal, were ever released worldwide.
He poured a measure of the amber liquid into a Lalique cognac glass and, dogs in tow, headed to his elevator.
The previous owners had spared no expense. The home was filled with beautiful hardwoods—maple, cherry, walnut, and oak. From the hand-carved millwork to the paneling in the elevator carriage, it was first-class.
He and the dogs rode up to the fourth floor of the tower and exited out a set of French doors to the observation deck. From here, he could see for miles.
It had been a warm, Indian summer. But as autumn crept ever closer to winter, the evenings were beginning to bite. He decided to light a fire.
Cooler nights were actually something they had been looking forward to. At the end of the day, before dinner, he and Nina had a ritual. They would meet on the roof to unwind, reconnect, and enjoy a cocktail together. A fire only made it more romantic.
Setting his glass down, he selected a couple of logs for the fire, turned on the starter, and lit a match.
A bright flame leapt up as the gas ignited and, slowly, the logs began to crackle. As the dogs lay down near the fireplace, Nicholas went to pick up his cognac.
But as soon as he reached for it, he began to feel sick. A piercing sensation was radiating through the left side of his head—something he could both hear and feel. The pain in his ear was off the charts. Soon everything started spinning.
He tried to make it to the French doors, but lost his balance, crashing onto the slate pavers, his glass of cognac shattering in his hand.
He attempted to call out to Argos and Draco, to get them to drag him inside to safety, but they were experiencing it as well.
The last thing he took in before everything went black was the dogs writhing and howling in pain.
CHAPTER 17
TAMIL NADU, INDIA
The flight from New Delhi to Sulur Air Base took just under three hours—more than enough time for Gupta to complete Asha’s briefing and answer plenty of her questions. She wasn’t, however, crazy about all the answers.
Their operation, despite all of the mismatched desks and out-of-date computers at the Blind Relief Association of Delhi, consisted only of the three of them. Raj had no intention of bringing anyone else on board.
The reason he had made her sign a resignation letter and clean out her desk was so that in case she was caught, RAW could disavow any connection to her, as well as any knowledge of what she was working on. It was, essentially, their get-out-of-jail-free card.
It didn’t come as a shock. Being expendable—within reason—was part of the job description. What had surprised her was how much Raj was gambling on her. Of all the agents he could have chosen, she was the one.
Gupta had told her she should be proud, which she was. He had then reinforced the importance of her assignment by quoting from a popular movie, based on real events, that had fictionalized RAW: “India is not just a country. It is an ideology. And the enemy wants to use every method to defeat this ideology.”
The “enemy” referred to in the quote was Pakistan, but it could have been any of India’s enemies—especially China. The example set by India’s Western-facing democracy was as dangerous to Beijing as Ukraine’s Western-facing democracy was to Moscow. Totalitarians couldn’t abide freedom blossoming on their doorstep. It was an ever-present reminder to their citizens of what they were being denied. As such, it was a contagious, corrosive, existential threat that needed to be extinguished at all costs.
Asha understood what was at stake. The fact that Gupta had been drawn out of retirement to work on this assignment only served to hammer the point home. That and the additional fact that their operation had been limited to only three people.
If they were successful, the benefit to India would be incalculable. Perhaps a movie would be made about them. Knowing her siblings’ love of cinema, that would probably impress them even more than a medal presented to her in secret.
Not that any of that made any difference. That wasn’t why she had signed up with RAW.
Before landing, she pinned up her hair, changed into the Defense Security Corps uniform that had been hung on the back of the lavatory door, and checked the name tape on her uniform to make sure it matched her ID, which of course it did.
She secured her Glock inside the waistband of her fatigues, hiding it under her “jacket,” as the camouflage uniform shirt was called, and rejoined Gupta in the cabin. There was one last question she wanted to pose.