Rising Tiger: A Thriller (71)
Smuggling the weapon into the United States, piece by piece, had been a Herculean effort. There was only so much that could be done via diplomatic pouches.
Once all of the weapon’s components were on American soil, it needed to be reassembled. That meant that one of the device’s creators, someone from the Science and Technology Commission, had to be brought to the United States to oversee the process. This person had to be one hundred percent clean—not on the radar of any of America’s agencies—and they had to have enough training in tradecraft so as not to arouse suspicion or fall under surveillance while inside the United States.
Then, finally, the weapon had to be tested.
While there were a plethora of test subjects clogging up Chinese prisons and concentration camps, America was different in that respect. Experiments needed to be carried out on subjects who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, report their symptoms.
Yang didn’t want the American government to start seeing “Havana Syndrome,” as they had dubbed it, on their shores, until he was ready to fully unleash it. And so they had focused the device on homeless persons, over a two-week period, up and down the eastern seaboard.
It had been an unqualified success. The Science and Technology Commission returned to China and Yang’s Boston-based Yaomo operative began carefully targeting different U.S. government employees and officials. Panic instantly took hold and could be felt from the corridors of power in Washington all the way up to the United Nations in New York City. No one knew where or when the next attack was going to happen. Now neither did Yang.
If the woman failed to materialize for her fourth comms window, he was going to have to launch a salvage operation.
An operation of that nature, however, was one of the most dangerous he could authorize. You were putting another agent in harm’s way and opening them up to a host of potentially disastrous outcomes.
Also, it wasn’t just any agent who could be tasked with a salvage operation—especially one in which both men and matériel were at risk. It required an elite operator. Someone exceptionally skilled, with a single-minded determination to see the mission through to the end, no matter what came to pass and no matter what the personal risk. There was only one person Yang could think of who so perfectly fit the bill.
When the fourth window came and went without any communication, he walked over to his safe, opened it, and removed a file contained within a black envelope.
Setting it on his desk, he pulled out an old letter opener he hadn’t touched in years. Once he cracked the thick, wax seal there would be no going back.
He stopped for a moment and ran his fingers over the crest and its raised lettering—Joint Staff Department of the Central Military Commission Intelligence Bureau.
Beneath it was a national security secrecy designation. The file bore one of the highest, most sensitive classifications in the People’s Liberation Army. The contents of the folder were considered to be within the realm of state secrets that included China’s space and nuclear weapons programs. Sliding the opener under the wax, he broke the seal.
Opening the envelope, he withdrew the file. The title page only held two, chilling words: Codename—Carbon.
Yang’s stomach pain intensified. He felt like someone had just walked across his grave.
Nevertheless, he turned the page and began the activation process. He was about to open the gates of hell.
What would be talked about in the years to come was what the freshly unleashed demon had done in pursuit of its goal.
Yang, however, couldn’t help but wonder how his role in helping the creature slip its bonds would be remembered.
His was but the turn of a key in a lock. However, as sure as the sun would rise, he would be responsible for every drop of blood that monster would spill. And the operative known as Carbon was the most bloodthirsty beast China had ever set loose on any of its enemies.
CHAPTER 44
NEW DELHI
Vijay had a plan in mind regarding Aga Sayed, but he needed to get a couple of things lined up. He also wanted to spend a few hours with his family. It was Diwali, after all.
He asked Harvath if he wanted to join them for dinner and experience a real Indian festival firsthand. Harvath thanked him, but said that after the ghost pepper incident, he probably wouldn’t trust him ever again. Vijay had laughed and told him that if he changed his mind, he would still be welcome. Apparently, both his wife and his mother-in-law were excellent cooks.
As enticing as the offer was, Harvath relished the idea of a little downtime. Only two days ago, he had literally been hit by a truck—and he felt like it.
Calling down to the bell captain, he promised the man a seriously good tip if he would hit as many of the hotel’s ice machines as possible and bring all the cubes up to his room. He wanted to take the world’s coldest and longest ice bath.
As he awaited the bellman, he availed himself of the suite’s minibar and poured himself a bourbon. Just a little something to take the edge off, numb the pain, and help him relax.
Once enough ice had been poured into the massive tub, he tipped the bellman, activated the do-not-disturb light on the door, and filled the vessel the rest of the way with water.
Sliding in was like taking the polar plunge. No matter how much time had passed since his SEAL training, he had never lost his deep and abiding hate for cold water.
With no access to pain pills, or a chiropractor to pop his myriad misplaced ribs and vertebrae back into place, this was the best medicine he had available.