Page 118 of Rising Tiger

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, extramagazines, 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.