Page 88 of Rising Tiger

Vijay had Sayed up against the bar. He kept him covered while Harvath patted the gangster down for weapons and then secured his hands behind his back with a pair of flex cuffs.

They weren’t in the clear, not yet, but they had definitely moved the ball down the field and were within striking distance of the end zone.

All that was left to do was to get Sayed out the back and to a nearby abandoned building that Vijay had identified. Once there, the fiend’s interrogation could begin. The ex-cop had something very special and very painful planned for him.

They were halfway to the back door when Harvath, who was leading the way, heard a sound from behind them that stopped his heart cold.

A shotgun had been racked. Just as quickly, someone fired.

CHAPTER 49

NORTHERNVIRGINIA

“Come on, man,” Trey Davis said as his colleague closed the door to Nicholas’s garage. “You can’t continue to keep those dogs in there.”

In the aftermath of the attack last night, Nina had been airlifted to Walter Reed. Nicholas had accompanied her in the helicopter, along with part of their security contingent.

The pilot had said “no” to bringing Argos and Draco. There wasn’t any room. The dogs had stayed behind with the remaining members of the protective detail.

Jack Hauptmann gave Davis a don’t-fuck-with-me look and replied, “I brought their beds down from upstairs. They’ve got plenty of food and water. They’ve been out several times already. And that fancy garage is totally climate controlled. They’re fine. Lots of people keep their dogs in the garage.”

“Leave it to a Marine to be afraid of a couple of canines.”

“A, I’m not afraid of anything. And B, have you seen the way those dogs sit and stare at you? Like they’re just waiting for the right moment to attack.”

Davis chuckled. “They’re highly intelligent animals, prized for their speed, strength, and loyalty. That’s why the Russian military and the East German Border Patrol loved using them.”

“How do you know so much?”

Davis held up his phone. “Google, dumbass.”

Hauptmann gave him the middle finger. “They creep me the fuck out, so they get to chill in the garage. There were plenty of days in the Corps when I would have killed for accommodations like that. Absolute luxury compared to some of the bivouacs I saw.”

“Pussy,” Davis replied, smiling.

“Let me ask you something. How do you know when your date with a PJ is halfway over?”

Interservice rivalries were par for the course, both when you were active duty, and even when you got out and were doing private contracting. Davis had been an Air Force PJ, short for Pararescue Jumper, famous for recovering and administering medical attention to personnel trapped behind enemy lines.

“I give up,” he said, humoring him. “How do you know when the date is half over?”

“Because the PJ says, ‘Enough about me. Want to hear about all the cool gear I carry?’?”

Davis chuckled once more. “Do you know why everything in the Marine Corps has to be broken down into five-step plans? Because Marines only have five fingers on one hand.”

“Only one of which really matters,” Hauptmann responded, flipping him the bird again. Then, pulling out a cigar, he informed his colleague, “I’m going up to that nice rooftop deck and am going to have a smoke.”

“Is that a Cuban?” the eagle-eyed former PJ asked.

“Yep.”

“Where’d you lay your hands on one of those?”

“There’s a humidor next to the bar.”

Davis looked at him. “You stole it?”

“Relax,” the man replied. “I’m a Marine, not a Green Beret. Nick knows I love cigars and he told me to take one as a thank-you for watching the dogs.”