Page 117 of Rising Tiger

No one spoke. There was nothing to be said. This was a business transaction. The sooner it was over, the better—for everyone involved.

When his examination was complete, the scientist nodded to Yang. The weapon was legitimate.

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,almostempty. Olena’sprosthetic 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.