by D W Bell
Reacting swiftly, John lunged to occupy the space between the two and assumed his own fighting stance. “What are you doing here? Where’s Boudreaux?”
With a sigh of resignation Master Fu returned to his casual stance, made a slight bow of respect in Lilith’s direction, and growled at John, “Stand down, you idiot. We are no match for her. She’s a dragon.”
“What?” The confused John struggled to process what was going on, “It’s two-on-one, and I thought you said the Dragon style was dead?”
“No, dumbfuck. She’s an actual dragon. And you can’t win because she is a being formed of immortal energy, and you are a fleshy sack of blood and bullshit.”
“But…she doesn’t look Chinese.” Jaw agape at John’s stupidity Master Fu shrugged and tried to stammer an apology as Lilith gasped in offense.
With a huff the angry scowl began to fluctuate and change with the rest of her body until a coquettish concubine straight from some Chinese soap opera, wrapped in Qing Dynasty silk, stood where Lilith had been, “Is this better, racist pig?”
“These are not her true form.” Master Fu whispered calmly to John, hoping to return him to his senses with the senseless statement.
“Rude! If we are outing each other John should know you are not what you seem either.” Lilith returned to her previous form and shook her head disappointedly at John.
“Please accept my sincerest apologies, mistress.” Master Fu bowed deeply, “You two know each other?”
“She’s Boudreaux’s assistant.” John bowed as well, unable to think of anything else to do.
“I see. Is your master in need of us? We have been out of contact for this portion of John’s training.” Master Fu stumbled slightly over the makeshift excuse. He had not foreseen encountering one of Boudreaux’s minions before the fighting started.
Adopting a conspiratorial smile, Lilith laughed malevolently, “That upstart imp is no master of mine.”
“Very well,” the perplexed Master Fu cautiously continued, “How may we be of service to you, noble dragon?”
Nodding her approval of the flattery Lilith continued, “Your little secret rebellion has been discovered,” she paused for a moment to let the looks of dejection and loss of all hope shadow the men’s faces, “but not by Boudreaux.”
“Affiliated but otherwise adversarial parties perceive Boudreaux’s attempt to upset the balance as an excuse to take him down a peg or two, and it has been decided your little mission will be allowed to proceed to that end.”
“We know Papa revealed the location of The Den to you, and you are to destroy it and any of Boudreaux’s pets you find there. If you are capable.” Lilith looked disapprovingly at John who suddenly realized he was still bent over in a bow and slowly straightened himself up, “Frankly, your chance of success is thought to be negligible, but even a failed attempt has been deemed probable to be aggravating enough to return Boudreaux to the fold.”
Master Fu’s voice was uncharacteristically shaky as he responded, “These other parties stand to gain much from our sacrifice. What assistance do they offer?”
Lilith smirked at the thought, “This is not a negotiation. The only assistance they offer is that of idleness and neglect, which is both the least and most they care to do. They will take no action to help you, but in their inaction they will not hinder you.”
“These are nonactions of great value. We thank you for nothing.” Master Fu bowed deeply with real gratitude while John mindlessly aped the obeisance.
“Very good.” Lilith favored both men with a superior smile and stepped out of sight into the swamp, “Take care, boys.”
A visibly stricken Master Fu shuffled slowly to the side of the trail and sat clumsily down on a fallen log, clutching the jade bottle that John now realized he had been white-knuckling for the duration of the encounter.
“What did Papa give you? Some kind of charm against dragons?
“No.” Master Fu pushed the stopper off the bottle and emptied its contents into his hand, “Nitroglycerin. I have heart attack now.”
Chapter 28
North Korea
The Den was said to be located in one of the most desolate, isolated, and inaccessible places on earth, and in this regard the reality certainly did not disappoint.
Not cleverly hidden in plain sight, not the hollowed-out volcano of a cinema super villain, this was literally just the middle of nowhere where no one had the reason or wherewithal to go. Even so, great care was taken to make the complex invisible from the air as well as hidden from satellite imaging. The long abandoned military outpost of a previous regime commandeered for the purposes of the program.
Truth be told, the current Leader was one of the few that knew of the private army of super soldiers being trained in his backyard. However, being himself a frequent customer for Boudreaux’s services, he looked at it as a convenience for when he needed them, and insurance policy against their use against him. Besides, if push came to shove, a few hundred teenagers, no matter how well-bred and trained, would be no match for the multitude of his own forces, or such was his thinking. Plus, Boudreaux was capable of producing international sports, music, and media superstars for dinner and photo ops, and the tiny tyrant was quite the fanboy.
If he was safe at all, it was only because Boudreaux found the laughable little despot entertaining, what with his penchant for ordering executions by anti-aircraft guns, mortars, flamethrowers, and the like. Boudreaux actually admired the Hermit King.
The power the petulant little man wielded in his own country was absolute, and he exerted influence around the world by forcing more civilized countries to respect his capricious insanity. A blunt instrument, but the man was a useful tool when Boudreaux wished to paint in broad strokes to rough out the edges of his global masterpiece. Suffice it to say, the little guy made him laugh.
It was like watching a viral video of a retarded monkey dressed in people clothes flinging poo everywhere at a fancy dinner party, and Boudreaux held the leash. Despite reassuring his other clients that the dictator was “not our sort,” the bromance between the two men was made all the more effective due to its secretiveness. Boudreaux got a court jester armed with nuclear weapons, and the Leader got a secret advisor and confidant who truly understood him.
With both sides of the equation considered, the only answer was to nurture The Pack within the frigid embrace of the Hermit Kingdom.
Boudreaux smiled as he watched the recent newsfeed concerning his little puppet and chuckled to himself at the reports of missile tests, starvation, parasites, and anthrax. “Magnificent bastard. Wonderful!” The streaming news coverage continued as Lilith stepped into the room.
“Good morning, sir. Are you ready for your morning briefing?”
“Of course, my dear, I’m always ready to delve into your deepest, darkest, and dirtiest little secrets, but let us talk business first. How is every little thing?” Boudreaux’s tone was especially lusty this morning in keeping with his buoyant mood.
“Yes, sir. Network ratings are rising at a pace to surpass even the most generous of the models with donation revenues tracking as predicted. And, as per your design, internal rifts are widening and opposing factions are forming among the upper echelons since you installed Chad as the face of the network.”
“That boy is delightfully divisive, and an eager participant once he cottoned to his role.”
“We are seeing a significant spike in mission queries from Saudi Arabia and the surrounding countries, probably due to the various shakeups in the royal family. Analysts predict steady increases for the whole region this fiscal year and recommend pre-stationing assets to address demand quickly. Specifically, small unit operators. High value targets can be expected to utilize fortifications and employ private security forces, so most of the missions will be of the raid or siege variety.”
“Indeed,” Boudreaux took a puff from his ever-present smoking article, this morning his cloven cigarette, and thought for a moment. “We
’ve been spread a little thin since Charlie’s little show, probably time to pull some fresh meat in to meet the demand. Draft an order to pull two… no, three platoons from The Pack and position them at our office in Syria.”
“Right away, sir.”
Boudreaux’s eyes sparkled with inspiration as he exhaled fragrant smoke through a toothy grin, “What’s the name of that bloated old windbag we have pushing the old-time religion angle in the early-bird special timeslot?”
“That’s Pastor Michael Abraham”
“Yes, of course. Let’s throw the old dog a bone and let him go nuts with the anti-Muslim rhetoric. ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ and so on. Make sure to get tight shots of military members and lots of America First type stuff. City on a Hill. Considering our worldwide audience, it should scare up some extra business in that region as tension and fear increase on both sides. Get some synergy working between the two divisions and we might just beat even the rosiest projections!”
“Very good, sir.”
Boudreaux frowned in annoyance as the chyron silently proclaimed the tentative meeting plans between North and South Korea, to be proctored by the U.S., “Tedious. Lilith, it seems our man in Pyongyang is getting too big for his britches. Getting a little too chummy with the South and the West for my liking, too.” He reached for his cut crystal tumbler and absent-mindedly swirled the contents as he cast his eyes to the ceiling in deep thought.
After a few moments away he snapped back to now, sprightly and mischievous as ever, “It’s just as well. It was always too cold there for my blood. Begin proceedings to transfer our interests from North Korea. Stock, Operations, and Production.”
“Absolutely, sir. Shall we leave a skeleton crew behind to obfuscate the changes until they are complete?”
“Quite right, my dear. Leave one unit to keep up appearances. Expendables of little value. We can use this opportunity to rid ourselves of those boot camp rejects who think they’re Vikings. Berserkers or however they style themselves. Separate the wheat from the chaff. Those kids are all horny for Valhalla anyhow.”
“Very good, sir” Lilith replied without looking up from her notepad as a message came through with a bling.
“Just move all the assets to the aforementioned Syrian accommodations, sans Berserkers of course, and we’ll move the broodmares into the Pastor’s old palace until we find more suitable boarding stables for them. I’m sure he won’t mind, but I do hope the steam cleaners have been through to remove his legacy.” Laughing, Boudreaux drained his glass and motioned for a refill.
Lilith sashayed over to the drink cart and filled his request, “One bit of new business has just come up, sir. It seems there have been some other unauthorized staffing changes.”
Still leering at Lilith’s silhouette as she bent to perform her duties, Boudreaux winked at her as she turned to deliver his drink, “Other than Master Lung’s little tantrum? Do tell.”
“Papa Koulèv and his protégé were found dead in his swamp. Also, Master Fu and asset John Smith have gone missing.” She continued to tap at her tablet, checking for any updates.
Boudreaux scowled, “Old fool. I knew I smelled something off about him at our last little visit.” With a sigh he took a drag from his cigarette, a sip from his glass, and continued, “Well, Lilith, old girl. I’m afraid Master Fu has gone Quixote on us. Tilting at windmills and all that rubbish. Conscripting our Dear John as his Sancho Panza as well.”
The tension was palpable as Boudreaux paused to stare blankly at the newsfeed unendingly streaming across the television. Then, with a malevolent chuckle, “Fantastic! Have one of the other directors organize a search and recover team. I want them alive, and if my guys go they’ll liquidate them out of misguided loyalty.”
“I am drafting the mission parameters now, sir.” The staccato beeping of Lilith’s tapping served to break the heavy mood. Boudreaux stood, stamped the butt of his cigarette into the carpet, set his sweating glass down next to a coaster on the fine inlaid table, and moved to leave.
As if in afterthought, but too casually, Boudreaux spoke over his shoulder as he exited the office, “Let’s expedite those Korea orders, shall we? Just in case our Don Quixote, the old coot, is as foolish as I think.”
“Of course, sir.” Lilith performed the action with her inscrutable, business-like smile.
Chapter 29
“So all these kids in The Pack came from Tiger and Dragon breeding programs?” John whispered hoarsely, breaking the silence of the cold night.
“Well, that’s the way Boudreaux often sells it, but the truth is only a small percentage of the little bastards are products of the system. Partly from our efforts to stymie, and partly due to the sheer volume required to bring these units to functional combat strength.” Master Fu paused for a step to take a pull from his whiskey flask for warmth, “Even if you make the offspring into breeders themselves, which that asshole Boudreaux did, it’s not sustainable when you factor in training losses and physical and mental faults of the inbred ones.”
“No, Boudreaux had to get creative. I’ve heard he often poaches from misguided basic training washouts from various services under the guise of CIA or NSA, or whatever the particular equivalent in that country, and sometimes even steals the children of candidates he finds in the way that he found you. Like some goddamn evil storybook gypsy.”
“If it’s just a bunch of kids, do they really have to be destroyed? Can’t they be saved?”
“No. I’m afraid they are beyond rehabilitation. These dogs must be put down.”
The men crouched behind the roadside snow bank as they waited for the transport for the final leg of their journey. It had taken planes, a train, several trucks, and finally a cold fast-rope down from a helicopter that barely slowed down to arrive at their current position. Just ahead was perhaps the loneliest of all North Korean checkpoints.
The permanent assignment, probably punitive knowing the fickleness of the regime, of two guards whose only contact came within the sparse window of time where there thirteen-hour shifts overlapped. Beyond that, somewhere out in the frozen wasteland, lay the forgotten base that Master Fu believed Boudreaux used to kennel his Pack.
Through chattering teeth John whispered as he watched the checkpoint through a set of old but functional night-vision goggles, “I don’t understand why your cousin the pilot couldn’t drop us closer.”
“Too suspicious. You’re lucky he slowed down, Frosty.” Master Fu grunted a little closed-mouthed laugh at John’s embarrassment.
John bristled slightly at the older man’s chiding, covered in snow as he was. He had not been ready when the pilot banked to follow the designated flight plan and had misjudged the swing out of the rope. His descent was comical as he tumbled into the fresh powder below leaving a very ungraceful looking snow angel.
“You got a big fucking family for being a mean old man that lives in a movie set on a mountain.” Every transition on the way to here had been overseen or handled directly by someone who treated them with great reverence, and that Master Fu referred to as cousin or nephew. He was always Master Fu, never uncle.
“Yes. Big fucking family. Shut up now. I hear truck.” Master Fu snatched the NVGs from John and trained them on the road approaching the checkpoint.
Sure enough, John soon heard it too. The grinding gears and protesting diesel of an old troop carrier. Then the wavering glow of headlights began to conquer the abyss-black night. The screeching and clanking old thing soon rolled into view, pulled up to the barricade blocking the road, and stopped. Papers were thrust from the driver’s side window at the clearly flustered guard and a rather animated conversation ensued.
“Is it supposed to take this long? What are they saying?” John shivered nervously, from anxiety and cold.
Master Fu just grunted as the driver and another man climbed down from the cab and began to follow the guard as he inspected the vehicle, “Get ready.”
As the guard and the two men rounded the far
corner of the beat-up old truck Master Fu and John moved swiftly and quietly over the barely packed snow and clambered quickly into the cargo area of the troop carrier. Outside, through a space in the cargo cover, John watched the driver laugh loudly as he presented the still befuddled guard with a bottle of soju, clapped him on the back, and hopped back into the still running truck. Satisfied by the papers and inspection, or seduced by the graft of the liquor, the guard raised the barricade and saluted as they drove through.
They rode in chilly silence for twenty or so minutes before the big truck wheezed to a stop and they heard the doors of the cab open. The tailgate dropped and two young North Korean soldiers began speaking excitedly and frantically bowing as Master Fu pounced down from the truck bed and alighted between them.
“What’s wrong with your nephews?” Master Fu silenced any further outburst from John with a look and turned back to the soldiers who were still nervously talking over each other in their native tongue. After a few short, questioning statements Master Fu patted the shoulders of both boys in a fatherly manner and directed them to unload the long, narrow crate he and John had been sitting on.
“So what’s the word, sifu?” Having learned his lesson, there was no levity in John’s question. It was time to work.
“We may have come too late. The guard back there said a large truck convoy had passed through leaving the area during the day shift. Nothing or nobody passes through here except as concerns Boudreaux. Our escorts think he might have somehow heard we were coming and emptied the place out, but that’s not his way. If he knew I was coming, he would most likely meet me at the gate with a drink in his hand. Prick.” Master Fu scowled to himself for a moment then looked skyward, “We proceed as planned.”