Rising Tiger: A Thriller (65)

So far, there had been no noise whatsoever. That made it quite unsettling when Raj said over the radio, “Freeze.”

She did as he ordered, wondering what the hell was going on.

“Get out of there. Now.”

Withdrawing her picks, she shoved them into a pocket, stood with her back against the wall, and readied her weapon as she whispered, “What’s going on?”

“They’re all converging on your location. They know you’re there.”

“How?” she wondered aloud, zooming out on the tablet, seeing exactly what Raj saw on his screen.

“There must be a camera somewhere in your vicinity. You need to get out of there. Do it now.”

A camera? Damn it. She had purposefully kept her eyes open for cameras. But the technology had miniaturized them to such a degree that she could have missed one—or several. In fact, she could have been staring right into one as she worked on picking the lock and had not even known it. Damn it, she repeated to herself.

With the need to be quiet gone, and the element of surprise lost, all she had left was speed and efficiency.

“I’m going in,” she radioed.

“Absolutely not. I’m telling you, for the last time, get the hell out of there. That’s an order.”

Technically, Raj was correct. It was an order. But it wasn’t one with which she was going to comply. This was the only lead they had, and she would be damned if they were going to lose it.

Freeing up her left hand, she pulled a flashbang from her chest rig, removed the pin, and, stepping in front of the door, slammed it open and tossed the device inside.

When it detonated, she charged in behind it.

She swept her weapon from side to side, making sure—despite what the tech equipment had shown her—that there was no one else present.

The only person she saw was the man by the window. He was disoriented. Near his left foot was a pistol that he must have dropped. Asha wasted no time.

Letting her submachine gun swing on its sling, she transitioned to her Taser and fired, hitting the man with both barbed probes, dead center in his chest.

As he rode the lightning, his musculature seized up and he fell, groaning, to the ground.

She kicked his pistol across the floor, pulled out a pair of restraints, and zip-tied his hands behind his back before he could recover. Then she secured his ankles and, stripping away a lamp cord, bound all the restraints together so he couldn’t move beyond rocking on his belly from side to side.

“They’re coming up the stairs,” said Raj, more concerned at this moment with her safety than the fact that she had disobeyed his order.

Asha looked at the tablet. “Confirmed. I see them.” Four men were coming up the nearest stairwell, while two more were headed up the other at the far end of the corridor.

She scanned the apartment next door, which was empty. She also noticed something else—the units were mirrors of each other and shared the same Achilles’ heel.

India in general, and New Delhi in specific, were plagued with substandard construction. Building inspectors were often bribed, or plans were submitted, only to be trimmed back and changed after occupancy permits were submitted. Apartments were frequently, and illegally, sliced in half, doubling a landlord’s potential rental income.

When this happened, it was all about doing it on the cheap. There was no point in bricking over a narrow hallway when drywall could be used. And a narrow hallway, enclosed in drywall, made two halfway decent closets.

Grabbing a piece of decorative fabric draped over the couch, Asha gagged her prisoner and headed for the closet.

Once there, she didn’t bother pulling the clothes out. Yanking out the rod, she let everything fall to the ground. Then, raising her H&K, she fired a barrage of suppressed rounds into the gypsum board.

She ejected her spent magazine, inserted a fresh one, and then, using the butt of her weapon, her booted foot, and her shoulder, punched her way through the drywall and into the closet of the apartment on the other side. Closing the door to the first closet, she quickly stepped into the adjacent apartment.

She had just officially recaptured the advantage.

What she’d do in the next ninety seconds would make all the difference.





CHAPTER 40


In the neighboring apartment, Asha had already cracked the front door. She had planned to ambush the four G-Company men as they ran past, maybe even get them killed in a crossfire if their colleagues in the other stairwell popped up and began shooting. Unfortunately, these guys weren’t as dumb as she had hoped they would be. In fact, they were apparently quite disciplined.

The team of two at the far stairwell remained in place. Of the four men in the nearer stairwell, two came down the hall, while the other two hung back. This meant that if Asha stepped into the hall after they had passed, she would get shot in the back. That was a less-than-optimal outcome.

At this point, the only effective plan of attack she could see was to go back through the closet, reenter the spotter’s apartment, and shoot the two men when they made their entry. They would, however, come in expecting an attack—especially when they saw their colleague gagged and trussed up on the living room floor.

There had to be another way, but not coming up with any, she hurried toward the closet and the hole leading through the wall back into the other apartment.

That was when Raj’s voice came over her earpiece. “Help is on the way. North staircase.”