Rising Tiger: A Thriller (6)

So far, so good, Harvath thought to himself. Now all he had to do was get himself to the airport. Glancing at his watch, he felt pretty good about his chances.

Good, that was, until he flicked his gaze up to his rearview mirror and noticed several sets of headlights closing in on him from behind. His only chance was to move fast enough that he could outrun them.

Approaching the next intersection, he gripped the wheel with both hands and turned to the right with such force that the pickup rose up onto two wheels. He almost thought that he had gone too far, that he was going to flip it over, when he adjusted and gravity helped bring the wayward tires crashing back down onto the road. The moment they did, he pressed down on the gas even harder.

Storefronts whipped past, their fa?ades forever altered in the post-Kabul-collapse era. Beauty salons had painted over pictures of women wearing makeup and sporting the latest hairstyles. The same thing had happened at boutiques for women’s clothing; images of fashionable models erased out of fear of incurring the wrath of the Taliban.

It wasn’t just a “step” backward. It was as if the entire culture had been loaded into a catapult and launched decades into the past. The Taliban were like a cancer, destroying everything they touched. And for what? All of it simply in service to their abhorrent, radical religious beliefs.

In Harvath’s experience, the Afghans were good people. His heart ached for them. Not only for what they were suffering, but also because they had lacked the collective will to stave off and ultimately fight back against the monstrous regime that now ruled over them. They could have had a different future. They should have had a different future. It had been within their grasp.

He wasn’t very optimistic about their future. If there was one thing he knew, it was that once freedom had been lost, it was almost impossible to get back. That was one of the biggest reasons he had chosen the career that he had. As a previous U.S. president had stated, “Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We don’t pass it on to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same. And if we don’t do this, we will spend our sunset years telling our children, and our children’s children, what it once was like in America to be free.”

That responsibility, Harvath had learned, required vigilance at home and abroad. There was no American Dream without those willing to protect it. Every citizen had a role to play. It required commitment, truth-telling, and a belief not only in what America was, but what it could be—a belief that its best days were always in front of it.

It also involved danger. For as long as America stood apart as a beacon of liberty, a place where the dignity and rights of the individual were prized above all else, it would attract the scorn and enmity of tyrannical governments and malevolent actors the world over.

To combat those threats, the United States needed citizens like Harvath, men and women willing to take on additional risk; who would put their lives on the line and fight America’s enemies, no matter where that fight might take them.

It was what had brought him to Kabul. He wasn’t thrilled to be back, but he had a job to do, a mission to complete, and he was going to do it. Failure wasn’t an option.

It wasn’t enough for his team to escape with Topaz and the man’s family. Harvath had to get out of the country as well.

If he couldn’t get out, he would die trying. He wouldn’t allow any lives to be risked coming back for him. He understood what he had signed up for, and he was going to see this mission through to its very end—one way or the other.

His focus now was on losing the vehicles on his tail. Once that was done, he could plot a new course and bolt for the airport. Whether he’d be able to get in the gate, much less whether the plane would even still be there, was anybody’s guess. He’d have to jump off that bridge when he came to it.

Up ahead, he could see a traffic circle. The roundabouts in the city were famous for congestion. But due to the late hour, there was only a smattering of cars. Nevertheless, it was going to be his best, and possibly only, option for ditching his pursuers. They were closing the gap and almost on top of him.

He hit the traffic circle hard, easing up on the gas only enough so that he didn’t roll the pickup. As he disengaged the clutch and then put it right back into action, his rear tires smoked as he oversteered and drifted the truck through the turn.

It was a difficult maneuver, especially with such a high center of gravity, but he had nailed it.

The only thing that would have made it better was if he had noticed the SUV flying down the next feeder road into the roundabout.

But by the time he saw it, it was too late.





CHAPTER 5


The vehicle hit the side of Harvath’s truck with such force that it felt like he had driven over an IED. The windows exploded in a hail of glass and his helmet struck one of the pillars so hard, it caused him to see stars.

The SUV pushed his pickup all the way across the road, slamming it into a concrete barrier and pinning it in place.

Harvath scrambled for his rifle, but he couldn’t find it. It had been ejected at some point in the crash. Reaching for his belt, he drew his SIG Sauer pistol and pointed it at the bearded occupants of the SUV. All were wearing black Taliban turbans. As soon as he saw one of them raise a weapon, he pressed his trigger.

He fired in controlled pairs, again and again, not stopping until all four men were dead.