Rising Tiger, page 31
The Chinese intelligence officer then signaled to his men, who removed a large aluminum suitcase from the back of the nearest SUV and wheeled it over to Durrani.
Laying it on its side, he opened the lid and removed random stacks of banded currency, fanning the bills to make sure that Yang hadn’t ripped him off.
Satisfied, he closed the case, stood it upright, and wheeled it through the barn. He opened the opposite set of doors, revealing a parked car.
Popping the trunk, he put the suitcase inside, closed the lid, and got behind the wheel. Not once did he look back.
Starting the engine, he put the vehicle in gear and drove off. He had what he had come for. If he never saw Colonel Yang Xin again, it would be too soon.
Yang felt very much the same way. He gave orders to his men and a small wave of relief washed over him as they closed the two cases, lifted them off the table, and carried them toward the SUVs.
He had done it. He had gotten this weapon back. The knot in his horribly pained stomach loosened ever so slightly. He still didn’t know what he was going to do about the one in the United States, but he had the whole plane ride back to Beijing to think about it.
Unbeknownst to him, he wasn’t going to make that flight, or any other, ever again.
As long, wispy tendrils of fog began to roll across the farm, a team of heavily armed men stepped silently from their hiding places.
A woman’s voice issued a one-word command via the earpieces connected to their radios. “Execute.”
Before Yang or any of his men could react, they were cut down in a hailstorm of suppressed rounds.
After all of the Chinese nationals were confirmed dead, Asha and her team of Special Group commandos disappeared back into the darkness.
CHAPTER 64
Harvath hadn’t intended to let the woman suffer one second longer than necessary. She had already suffered enough. It would all be over soon.
Her name was Olena. She was a Ukrainian refugee. The fact that she had made it out in her condition was a miracle.
What the Russians had done to her was horrific. What she was now being subjected to, just to survive, was abominable.
Harvath had scaled the wall and dropped into the garden. Via one of the French doors at the end of the terrace, he entered the building.
According to his intel, the room he was looking for was on the third floor. He spun the suppressor onto the barrel of his pistol as he climbed the service stairs.
He had no intention of drawing this out. There wouldn’t be any long soliloquies. He was here to do a job. Once it was done, he’d be gone.
Stepping onto the third floor, he crept silently down the hall until he found the room he was looking for. He listened, but couldn’t hear any sound from the other side. Gently, he tried the handle. It was locked.
He removed the key he had been given and slipped it into the lock, which, along with the door hinges, had been recently oiled.
The key turned soundlessly; the lever and the dead bolt moved softly into place. When he felt the lock release, he applied pressure to his trigger and pushed the door open.
The room was empty. Or to be more precise, almost empty. Olena’s prosthetic limbs sat on the bed. An aluminum suitcase sat behind a dressing screen near a rust-stained sink.
Where is this motherfucker? he thought to himself. Then he heard muffled voices coming from somewhere toward the other end of the hall. A woman was sobbing. A man was berating her. Gotcha.
He moved quietly down the hall and stopped when he arrived at the palace’s grand staircase.
Durrani was humiliating Olena, making her painfully climb the stairs with her stumps.
She had once worked in a flower shop in Mariupol, a job she had loved, creating arrangements that brightened people’s lives and brought joy to the world.
But now this was what she had been reduced to. This is what she had to do to survive. The tears were streaming down her face.
Taking aim, Harvath said, “Pssst.”
When Durrani looked up, Harvath shot him in the dick.
As the man began to cry out, he then shot him in the head, killing him. He watched as his lifeless body crumpled onto the landing and his blood began to stain the purple runner.
Olena was in shock.
Securing his pistol, he walked down the stairs to where she was. Her eyes were wide with fear and she was trembling.
“It’s okay,” he said, bending down to pick her up. “Everything is going to be okay. Put your arms around my neck.”
He didn’t know if she spoke English, but she understood enough to do as he had asked.
He carried her back to the bedroom, placed her on the bed next to her prosthetic legs, and told her to put them on. Again, she did as he asked.
Removing the aluminum suitcase from behind the screen, he set it on the bed next to her, opened it, and showed her what was inside. He removed several stacks of bills and slid them into a small backpack he had brought along.
“This is yours now,” he told her, pointing at the rest of it. “I’m going to help you downstairs, you’re going to take this money, and you’re going to disappear. Okay?”
The tears had returned to Olena’s face, but they were no longer tears of pain and anguish. “Thank you,” she cried. “Thank you.”
She threw her arms around him and hugged him. Harvath allowed it for a moment, before saying, “We have to go. Are you ready?”
Olena nodded and Harvath helped her down the service stairs, while he carried the suitcase. A car was waiting for them around the corner.
After helping her get into the backseat, he put the suitcase in the trunk and then tapped the roof, letting the driver know he was good to go.
He stood there, watching her watch him through the rear window as the car vanished in the ever-thickening fog. She mouthed the words “Thank you” again and again as she disappeared.
Shouldering the backpack, he disappeared into the fog as well.
A few blocks from the Terrace Club was a pub called Terminus.
It had the oddest mix of customers he had ever seen. From organized crime figures to intelligence operatives, there was something about this dimly lit bar with its snug leather booths that appealed to people who plied their trades in secret.
At one of the coveted back booths, Harvath found his companions.
“Mission accomplished?” Asha asked as he sat down.
“Mission accomplished,” Harvath replied.
“Did he try to cite our deal as a reason for you not to do it?”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. Your deal was your deal. I didn’t have any such arrangement with him. I was never going to let that guy go on breathing.”
“Understandable,” the RAW operative responded. “Did he say anything at all?”
Harvath shook his head and waved a waitress over. “I never gave him a chance. How about you? How’d your op go?”
“Mission accomplished,” she replied.
Harvath smiled. Scanning the bottles behind the bar, he selected the best bourbon they had and then, pointing at Alexandru Suliman, said, “And make sure he gets the bill.”
The waitress nodded and walked away to place the order. Once she was gone, Harvath unzipped the backpack and placed it between himself and the Romanian intelligence officer. Inside was the pistol, extra magazines, and suppressor the man had provided as well as the multiple stacks of cash taken from Durrani’s suitcase. “For the madam, the people who own the farm, plus whoever you use to scrub the scenes and any local law enforcement issues.”
Suliman nodded, zipped the pack up, and put it on the floor between his boots. “The hope at my agency is that America and India will become even closer partners with Romania, particularly in terms of intelligence sharing.”
Harvath was all about deeper partnerships. Romania was a fellow NATO member and had proven invaluable during the war next door in Ukraine. He only wanted to see that relationship strengthened.
He hoped the same for India. An Asian version of NATO was a fantastic idea on so many levels. One of their first steps forward was going to be a technology swap. DARPA would be sharing everything it knew about the Havana Syndrome device and India’s Defense Research and Development Organization, known as DRDO, would be doing the same with what it learned from the directed-energy weapon Asha would be transporting back to New Delhi.
After a nice back-and-forth with Suliman, Harvath looked at Asha. “So, Vijay’s son Akshay, there’ve been how many dates so far?”
“We’ve been out twice. Coffee and a lunch. I don’t know that I’d call either of those a ‘date.’ ”
“You just don’t want to call them dates,” Harvath replied with a smile.
“What about you?” she asked, changing the subject as the waitress set down his drink.
“I just found out that I’m going to be a godfather.”
Nicholas and Nina’s baby had fully recovered and they were planning a christening in the chapel of their home. They had asked Scot and Sølvi to both be godparents and were hoping the ceremony could happen when Sølvi came to the States for the wedding, sometime between Christmas and New Year’s.
“Congratulations,” said Asha, raising her glass.
Suliman and Harvath raised theirs.
“To having something to do,” she continued, “someone to love, and something to look forward to.”
The trio clinked glasses and Harvath smiled. He did have something to do. He also had someone incredible to love. And there was so much coming up for him to look forward to.
He couldn’t wait to get home and hold his goddaughter and he couldn’t wait to be back together again with Sølvi.
He was blessed, beyond measure. And he was going to take time to enjoy it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have long been fascinated with India, especially the geopolitics of the region, which is why I chose it for the setting of Rising Tiger. I think we are going to be hearing a lot more about it in the years to come.
Each year, my goal is to bring you a better book than I did the year before. I not only want you to enjoy an exciting read, but also to close the novel a bit wiser about what’s happening around the world.
My thrillers would not be possible without you, my fantastic readers. Thank you for all of your phenomenal reviews, the incredible word of mouth, and all of the great interactions on social media.
To all of the fabulous booksellers around the world who help place my novels into the hands of eager readers, thank you. I wouldn’t be able to reach all of those lovely people without you.
In my two decades in this business, I have been blessed to have developed some amazing friendships. The following brilliant people were indispensable in the writing of this book.
Ambassador Robert C. O’Brien, former Special Envoy for Hostage Affairs and former U.S. National Security Advisor, has been a dear friend for many years and has helped with many of my thrillers. He freely shared his knowledge of India and its strategic importance throughout the writing process. I am much in his debt. Thank you, Robert.
Another dear friend, Chad Norberg, U.S. State Department, provided some terrific insight from his time stationed at the United States embassy in New Delhi. On-the-ground color details really help bring a novel, especially one set in such an exotic location, to life. Thank you, Chad.
Author, Diplomatic Security Service Agent (ret.), and good pal Fred Burton was incredibly helpful on multiple fronts over this past year. His nonfiction novel, Ghost, about his time in DSS, is one of the most gripping books I have ever read, and I highly recommend it. Thank you, Fred, for all of your help.
Sean Fontaine and I have been friends since we were little kids. Not only has he risen to the call every time his country has asked him to step forward, he has also picked up the phone every time I have called. He has always been willing to answer my questions and offer amazingly helpful suggestions. Thank you, Sean.
U.S. Navy SEAL (ret.) Pete Scobell has had an astounding career. He seems busier now out of the SEAL Teams than when he was in. Nevertheless, Pete is a terrific friend and always makes time to help me out on the books. His assistance continues to be invaluable. Thank you, Pete.
My good friend Sidney Blair, Senior United States Federal Air Marshal (ret.), United States Marshal Service (ret.), and United States Secret Service (ret.) has assisted on many of my books and was there again for me on this one. He always has great advice and terrific tactical suggestions. Thank you, Sidney.
Steve Tuttle is another great longtime friend who has helped me tremendously over the years. He’s one of the founding members of Taser International and Axon Enterprise. I think the TASER is an amazing tool, and I love coming up with outside-the-box ways for Harvath to use it. Whenever I do, I always run the scenario by Steve to make sure I’m on point. He always has great feedback for me. Thanks, Steve.
You never appreciate a good laugh or someone checking in to see how you’re doing more than when you’re in the thick of writing a challenging book. In addition to Pete and Sidney above, I want to thank Marcus and Morgan Luttrell, U.S. Navy SEALs (ret.), Paul Craig, U.S. Navy EOD (ret.), and Dan Moran, USMC (ret.) for their consistent good humor (even if 95 percent of the jokes are at my expense). Thanks, guys.
In Chapter 54, as Harvath and Asha discuss the importance of a strong military alliance between the United States and India, Harvath makes note of remarks by a United States ambassador to the United Nations. These remarks come from real-life former ambassador Nikki Haley and Congressman Mike Waltz in a ForeignPolicy.com OpEd titled “It’s Time to Formalize an Alliance with India,” which I highly recommend.
Simon & Schuster’s outstanding Jon Karp has delivered another incredible year for S&S, as well as for all the authors fortunate enough to be under his stewardship. Jon, I continue to be grateful for everything you do for me day in, day out. Thank you.
One of the reasons I am able to raise the bar year after year is because of my phenomenal editor and publisher, Emily Bestler. Her encouragement to keep pushing, and to keep delving into new and uncharted terrain, supercharges my creativity. This year, we celebrated the twentieth anniversary of my first thriller, The Lions of Lucerne. Emily, thank you. You are the absolute best. There is nobody else I would rather be working with. Here’s to the next twenty years!
The extraordinary Lara Jones is a consummate professional. It is an absolute pleasure to work with her and the rest of the awesome Emily Bestler Books team. Without them, you would not be holding this book in your hands. The tally of what they do every day is incredible. Thank you.
My astonishing Atria publisher, Libby McGuire, and associate publisher Dana Trocker keep pushing the envelope in new and totally creative ways. I am very thankful for all that you both have done and continue to do for me. Thank you, and I look forward to seeing you soon.
David Brown is, hands down, the absolute best publicist on the planet. He is tireless when it comes to promoting his authors and never rests on his laurels (or the author’s). He approaches each new book with boundless enthusiasm and energy. He’s a fantastic person to work with, and I am proud to call him my friend. Thank you, David.
I am now officially two years behind in bourbon drinking with another good friend at S&S, the spectacular Gary Urda. Gary and I go back so many years together, and one of my greatest joys has always been visiting New York and getting together with Gary for drinks. It’s not only a nice way to catch up and renew our friendship but also to say thank you for all that Gary and his awe-inspiring team do for me throughout the year. Fingers crossed that we’ll see each other soon. Thank you, Gary!
Jen Long and her crew at Pocket Books continue to be absolutely sublime. As the marketplace continues to change, Jen and her team are always ten steps ahead. You all are amazing. Thank you for everything.
One of the hardest working people I have the pleasure of knowing is the miraculous Al Madocs. He and the rest of the Atria/Emily Bestler Books production department are willing to do whatever it takes to get it right and get it done. Any errors in this novel are mine and mine alone, but I guarantee you that there are a lot fewer of them because of Al and his team. Thank you, all.
In addition to all of my S&S family members listed above, there are a host of other wonderful people who kill it on my behalf on a daily basis whom I miss seeing in person. I want to thank the following people, many of whom I have known, loved, and deeply appreciated for years. This includes Suzanne Donahue, Karlyn Hixon, Alaina Mauro, Liz Perl, Janice Fryer, John Hardy, Paula Amendolara, Colin Shields, Gregory Hruska, and Stuart Smith. Thank you.
I also wish to thank the formidable Atria/Emily Bestler Books and Pocket Books sales teams. You all are out there crushing it every single day! I am incredibly grateful for you and for all of your hard work. Thank you.
This year, I had the pleasure of working on the Rising Tiger jacket from square one with the amazingly talented Jimmy Iacobelli of the Atria/Emily Bestler Books and Pocket Books art departments. I wanted us to incorporate a set of gorgeous brass doors from the City Palace of Jaipur, and Jimmy made it happen, all while delivering an energetic, eye-catching, super-cool look. Thank you, Jimmy!
If you enjoy audiobooks, as I do, there’s simply no one better at producing them than the superb team at the Simon & Schuster audio division. My thanks go out to all of them, especially rock stars Chris Lynch, Tom Spain, Sarah Lieberman, Desiree Vecchio, and my longtime narrator and friend, Armand Schultz. Thank you.
Copyediting is tough work, but my splendid copy editor, Tom Pitoniak, did a terrific job. Thank you for helping to take the book to the next level.
It has been a hell of a year, and I am blessed to have had my magnificent agent and devoted friend, Heide Lange of Sanford J. Greenburger Associates, by my side every step of the way. We have so many things to be thankful for this year, Heide, and when I count my blessings, you are right there at the top of the list. Thank you for everything, large and small, that you have done for me. I value you more than you will ever know.
