Hunt the Dragon by Don Mann & Ralph Pezzullo

Author:Don Mann & Ralph Pezzullo
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery, Technothrillers, Action & Adventure, Thrillers & Suspense, International Mystery & Crime, Spies & Politics, Thriller & Suspense, War & Military, Thrillers, Military, Genre Fiction, War, Espionage, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Mulholland Books
Published: 2016-05-16T07:00:00+00:00

His mind quieted, Dawkins turned off the light and slipped under the coarse sheets. Usually when he got in bed, Sung left quietly, except on those rare occasions when he asked her to stay. He hadn’t done so tonight, which was why he watched with curiosity as she entered the bathroom through the door beyond the foot of his bed.

He knew almost nothing about her life. Judging from her appearance, he assumed she was in her late twenties. In conversation she sometimes referred to her family, but she never talked about how big it was, or whether she had a husband or children. Dawkins had always been introspective and self-involved, but during his captivity he spent even more time thinking about his own family.

Now he lay on his back with his eyes closed, remembering a picnic with Nan and Karen on the shore of the Potomac. Karen, who was five at the time, had been given a pink Barbie kite for her birthday. He watched her run with it attached to a string, trying to get it to take flight as the sun glistened off the river and her dark hair flew behind her. He heard her squeal with excitement, “Daddy! Mommy! Look at me!”

Sensing something moving above him, he half opened his eyes and saw a shadow. Sung leaned over him and whispered, “Mr. Dawkin, I show you something.”

“In the morning, Sung.”

“Important. I show now.”

The breeze along the Potomac carried the faint scent of cherry blossoms. Sung shook him. “Come to bathroom. Bring you glasses. I show you, Mr. Dawkin.”

Her aggressive behavior surprised him. He sat up and watched her beckon him with her hand.

“Okay, Sung. You sure this can’t wait?”

He put on his glasses and shuffled across the cold tile floor. Sung had entered the small five-by-five-foot space ahead of him. He saw the planes of her face shift under the bare light.

“What?”

She held a thin finger up to her lips, reached behind the rust-stained shower curtain, and turned on the water. He had always assumed his quarters were bugged and had been careful never to talk about anything that could get him in trouble. Now he watched her unscrew a five-inch-long plastic cylinder, reach inside it, and remove a piece of paper. He assumed the cylinder had been hidden somewhere on her body.

She carefully unfolded a small sheet of paper with blue handwriting on both sides.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

Sung pushed the paper under his nose. “For you, Mr. Dawkin…for you.”

He squinted through his glasses and started to read:

“Sir, my name is Dr. R. S. Shivan. I was a professor of nuclear engineering at the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research in Mumbai before I was kidnapped and forced to come here. TIFR is the Indian version of MIT. Part of my university training was at the University of Rochester. I have a PhD in nuclear engineering from the University of Michigan. I was brought to NK against my will over a year ago. Since then

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