Rising Tiger: A Thriller (58)

It would have been difficult for most people to keep up the charade, but he was good at his job and that made him good at masking his addiction.

He knew, however, that at some point he was going to have to find the strength to give it up. A secret like this made him vulnerable. No matter how careful he might be, it was foolish to believe that it would never come to light.

Addictions, however, could be very persuasive. They had a way of clouding even the most intelligent and capable of minds.

He had talked himself into one more visit to Bucharest—one more time indulging his deepest, darkest desires at the Terrace Club. He would go after all this business with the Chinese was finished. That would be his reward. He would wrap up this operation and sneak off for a few days, with no one the wiser. Then he would return to Delhi and think about a change—some way that he could go cold turkey. In the meantime, he had work to do.

The next step in Beijing’s plan was going to require precise execution. It was a spectacular attack. Perhaps even too spectacular.

He had tried to warn his superiors about all the danger it entailed, but they had simply waved him off. They not only loved to the idea of India suffering additional punishment, but he also suspected there was a large amount of Chinese money flowing into their bank accounts. The intelligence officers back in China weren’t stupid. They knew exactly what they were doing. He had no choice but to follow his orders.

Nevertheless, he had a bad feeling about things. Something was off. It was more than just his discomfort with what Beijing expected to see done. He still hadn’t heard anything on this morning’s operation. No updates. Nothing.

That was a problem. And the one thing he didn’t like were problems. Not when something this big was on the line.

Problems, he had learned, had a way of multiplying. No matter how small, once set loose into the world, they tended to grow. The only way to deal with them was to crush them—as soon as possible.

Looking at the time on his phone, he decided to give it five more minutes. If he hadn’t heard anything from his contact by then, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

And if he had to take matters into his own hands, there was going to be hell to pay.





CHAPTER 35


NORTHERN VIRGINIA

Nicholas hated safe houses. They were like sterile, corporate housing but with even less thought put into the comfort of the people staying there.

Nina was going to give birth soon. She needed to be at home, resting, in her own bed.

While he had no idea who had attacked him, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let someone chase him out of his own house. No fucking way.

In his mind, however, the question wasn’t if they were going to attack again but when? That was some of the worst pain he had ever felt. He had to think of Nina and the baby. Would she be able to withstand something like that?

Whoever was behind the attack had gotten his attention. Most definitely. But nothing had followed—no demand, no warning that if he didn’t do what they wanted they’d hit him again, nothing. And that concerned him.

He was worried that they weren’t done with him. That they would be back. When they did come back, he needed to be ready. But how?

Based on all the classified material he had been shown regarding Havana Syndrome, he had a loose idea of what he was up against. The key to foiling an attack was interrupting the flow of energy. In his estimation, there were only two surefire ways to do that.

The first, and worst idea, was to launch a drone of some sort equipped with a weapon of his own—a bomb capable of producing a significant enough electromagnetic pulse to knock out the attacker’s weapon. In the process, however, it would likely fry all the electronics in his house, as well as those in all the houses in a three-mile radius. In addition to the damage, it would also create tons of legal problems. It was simply untenable. That left him with his second option.

The NSA had been experimenting with a new type of shielding for government satellites. Thus far, the results had been quite good against all forms of radiation. He asked Gary Lawlor to reach out to CIA director Bob McGee and for him to request as much of it as he could get his hands on.

When Nicholas returned from the hospital with his security detail, additional operatives from the Carlton Group were roaming the property. Sitting on the tailgate of a dirty, mud-spattered blue Ford Bronco was a man he recognized from the office.

His name was Wes Sutton. In his mid-fifties, he had been career Army before retiring and coming over to the Carlton Group. His expertise was in counterinsurgency. He had also been one hell of a sniper.

He was tall and thin with a full face of perpetual stubble. He had his credit card out and was entering information into his phone.

“Christmas shopping already?” Nicholas asked as he walked over to greet him.

Sutton looked up and smiled. “Renewing my subscription to The Blaze.”

The man was an information junkie. He couldn’t get enough. He claimed that his insatiable appetite for it was what had made him so good at his job.

Putting his phone and wallet away, he hopped off the back of the Bronco and shook hands with Nicholas. “If you’ve got a minute, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Did you find the spot?” the little man asked.

Sutton nodded. “I certainly did.”

“Let me run inside real quick and then we’ll go.”