Shadow Tyrants (Oregon Files 13)

“You’ll be safe on my plane. It has all of the latest defense features, and I travel with a squad of former Special Forces operatives at all times.”

“It’s too bad that the defensive capabilities weren’t enough to save your son. Again, my condolences.”

Carlton pursed his lips at Gupta’s hollow words of sympathy. “It was a necessary sacrifice. I thought he might change his lazy, spendthrift ways and become an heir to my seat of the Nine Unknown, but it was not to be. Besides, I have four more sons to choose from.”

Gupta gave him a mirthless smile. “Of course.” He paused, then said, “You don’t seem very concerned about Wakefield’s incident in Sydney.”

“Why should I be?” Carlton leaned toward Gupta. “Were you behind it?”

“Certainly not. Are you accusing me of—”

Carlton smiled and waved his hand. “Relax. I know it wasn’t you.”

“How?”

“Because I know who did it . . . Do you?”

“I had suspected Wakefield of being behind the attack on the Colossus 5 until yesterday. In fact, I spoke to him right before he was assaulted, hoping to catch him in a lie. Now you seem to have all the answers. Who is it?”

“Romir Mallik.”

Gupta sat back as if he’d been slapped. “Mallik? But he’s always been so enthusiastic about the Colossus Project. How sure are you?”

“Sure enough to blow up one of his satellite rockets two days ago.”

“You did what?” Gupta shouted, his eyes bugging out. “Are you crazy?”

“Far from it.” Carlton stood and went to the door. “Walk with me.”

Gupta followed him out of the office. They passed a conference room into the upper lounge and walked up a wide staircase to a second lounge, this one with a baby grand piano as its centerpiece.

They continued aft past four sumptuous staterooms, one of which would be Gupta’s. In the tail section, they reached a third lounge. This one had an array of leather chairs on three low risers that were tiered higher toward a set of spiral stairs at the back. A door behind the stairs separated this room from the workers’ quarters and galley. The walls were decorated with a wide assortment of ancient weapons, everything from scimitars and spears to crossbows and throwing stars.

Gupta examined the armaments closely.

“I wouldn’t want to be in this room during turbulence,” he said.

“They’re all securely fastened to the wall,” Carlton said. “I understand that you’re a fan of weapons like I am.”

Gupta nodded. “But my tastes go more toward firearms.”

Carlton shrugged. “Difficult to collect in England.”

Gupta stopped at an edged weapon shaped vaguely like an ampersand, with a short spike projecting from just above the hilt at one end and a two-headed axe that had a pointed blade on one side and a wicked curved hook on the other.

“I’ve never seen one of these before,” Gupta said. “What’s it called?”

“A hunga munga. It’s an African tribal weapon. Although it can be used to hack at an enemy, it’s even deadlier in the hands of a skilled thrower.” Carlton gestured at one of the chairs. “Please take a seat.”

While Gupta settled into it, Carlton pressed a button on the wall, which lowered to reveal a huge monitor.

“Are we watching a movie?” Gupta snidely asked while he checked his phone. “What does this have to do with Romir Mallik?”

Carlton rolled his eyes. “I guarantee you will want to see this.”

Gupta put away the phone and crossed his arms. Apparently, his initial shock at Carlton’s accusation was gone, replaced by a generous dose of skepticism.

“Is this going to be a video of the rocket explosion? Because I’ve seen it already. Your networks have been broadcasting it on a loop since the failed launch.”