Page 80 of Rising Tiger

“Crystal,” Harvath replied. “I just want one thing from you.”

“What’s that?”

“All of the stops get pulled out for Nicholas, Nina, and the baby. They get the best doctors, the best protection, all of it. Nothing is spared. No stone is left unturned. We do everything we can for them.”

“Of course,” Lawlor asserted. “Nicholas is one of us. We take care of our own.”

“Good,” said Harvath. “Thank you.”

“And you? Can you remain focused on what you need to do?”

“Absolutely. But when everything is done, I want your promise that, even if it isn’t connected to my assignment, I’ll be allowed to go after whoever authorized targeting Nicholas and Nina.”

There was a pause before Lawlor responded. “By all means,” he said. “Something tells me that you won’t have to work hard searching for a connection. It’ll be there. The only question is, how much worse is everything going to get before we find it?”

CHAPTER 43

BEIJING

Colonel Yang Xin’s stomach problems were growing worse by the hour. His American-based operative had missed her third communications window in a row. This was not a good sign. In fact, it was a very bad sign.

After her first attack on that little bastard, she had sent in an excellent situation report. She had given the Troll, as instructed, a full blast of the directed-energy weapon, completely debilitating him.

Then she had remained hidden in the woods at the edge of his property and had waited until the ambulance had taken him away, before departing herself.

Were there reasons she might not have reported in yet? Of course, but none of them were good. She could have been in an accident or detained by authorities, both of which might result in the discovery of her weapon.

Her number one priority, and it had been drilled into her, wasnotthe targeting of the Troll and other Carlton Group members. It wasn’t even staging a successful attack on Scot Harvath himself. It was to make sure that the weapon didn’t fall into enemy hands. No matter what the cost, neither the Americans nor anyone else was to get anywhere near it.

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’screators, 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 whichbothmen 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.

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