by Ty Patterson
The first shout was heard a minute later. An indistinct yell. And then the passage door opened. A head poked out and looked in the direction of the pump. The man didn’t see them because he turned back and shouted at the sentries.
Both came running, rifles jostling over their shoulders. They bent to the pump, looked at each other astonished, made to shout back when they dropped, as Bwana and Broker shot.
The rounds went unheard over the sound of the motor and for several moments nothing happened.
And then sudden shouts and roars from inside the house.
‘It’s flooding,’ Meghan, a satisfied smile in her voice. ‘They’ll come rushing out.’
And that’s what they did.
Armed men, angry, shouting at each other, a few running towards the pump.
They went down when the operatives opened up and then it dawned on them.
They were under attack.
‘Go!’ Zeb patted Meghan on her shoulder and she took off, still bending low under the cover of the brick wall. Along the river, past the second passage where Chloe’s team was engaged with more shooters in the second passage.
To the street, where it was still silent, motionless.
They checked out the first SUV which was parked facing away from the river. It was empty. The second one was too, but its hood was towards the river. There were more vehicles on the street but they were either wrecks or too far from Zhen’s part of the slum.
‘Both,’ Zeb decided when Meghan looked at him.
They slashed the SUVs’ tires with their knives as Beth kept a running commentary in their earpieces.
His plan was working. Zhen’s men had fled back inside their houses. But the computer room was still flooding.
‘A lot of yelling. A lot of shouting,’ the younger sister smirked. ‘When will it strike those dumbasses to toss that hose out of the window?’
‘They tried,’ Broker chuckled, ‘I saw rubber twitch and shot through the window and at the wall.’
The houses were a mixture of mud and concrete. They would stop a round
But the hitters may not know that.
‘Something’s got to break, Zeb. They’re inside for too long. They know we’ve pinned them down. Zhen, if he’s there, will try to make an escape.’
The gangster did.
But not in the way they expected.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
A sustained burst of firing from inside the computer house.
‘Not at us,’ Broker announced. ‘Who’re they firing at?’
‘Oh My God!’ Beth gasped.
‘What?’ her sister demanded impatiently.
‘The heat sigs have turned off in that room. Several bodies on the floor. Five, no six.’
‘Zhen or someone’s shot the programmers,’ Chloe said grimly. ‘No other explanation.’
Zeb nodded silently in the dark. The gangster knows what went down in Chernihiv. He’s got orders from that mystery man. Don’t let the programmers or the machines fall into our hands.
Meghan’s pale face turned towards him. The same thoughts running through her.
‘He’ll make a break,’ he said.
She nodded.
‘Hose’s out.’ Broker, in a hard, clipped voice. ‘And here they come, out of the house.’
Zeb pictured it in his mind as the sound of shooting increased. Gangbangers spilling out, shooting blindly at the river, not knowing where the attackers were. His crew, firing methodically, protected by the wall.
The slum came to life. Lights turned on. Voices rose. Screams and shouts rang.
Movement!
Four men rushed out from between two houses. All armed. Looked to the left, to the right.
‘See him?’ Zeb asked.
‘Yeah,’ Meghan breathed.
Zhen was unmistakable. Goatee, bandana even at night. He was surrounded by the three men as they hustled him to the nearest SUV. They didn’t spot Zeb and Meghan who were hiding behind the rusted skeleton of a pickup truck.
One shooter swore when he spotted the punctured tires. A short exchange of words. They ran to the second vehicle, saw that it was immobile as well and the four men hustled down the street.
‘ZHEN!’ Zeb called out, showing himself partially.
He ducked back immediately when a hail of bullets pinged against the truck.
‘He’ll get away,’ Meghan said grimly. She dropped to the ground, settled prone, shooter’s position and brought the HK to her eyes. ‘I can fire from beneath the chassis. You go after them.’
Zeb raced down the sidewalk, using every cover he could find as Meghan engaged with the gangsters and a firefight broke out.
Zhen’s men ducked and weaved moving from side to side, two men facing the river, firing rapidly, raking from side to side, uncaring about who they hit so long as the intruders were kept at bay.
That car, Zeb spotted the vehicle the four of them were heading to. If they make it, they’ll escape.
He was on the edge of the road, hampered by their firing. Looks like Meg doesn’t have a clear shot either.
A break in the shooting as the men paused to change mags. Zeb took his chance. He reared up from behind another vehicle, his Glock rolling thunder. Meghan opened up from down the street. One shooter went down. Zhen screamed and urged his men to run faster. One gunman raced ahead and smashed the car’s window.
Zeb snapped a shot at him. Missed.
‘That other dude’s pinned me down,’ Meghan. Calm. ‘And I’ve got a bad angle. You’ve got to get them.’
Street lights had come on. Every house had turned on its outside lamps. Visibility was good, the night was as good as day.
Not more than ten feet between Zhen and that car. Even as he ducked, ran, dived to the ground as a hail of bullets came his way, the vehicle shuddered as its engine turned.
‘GET IN!’ the driver yelled at his boss.
Now or never. Zeb decided to fling caution to the wind. A snapped glance down the road. Meghan, standing behind her vehicle, her head partly showing, firing in bursts at the preman boss and his bodyguard.
Zeb burst to a sprint. Cover no longer mattered. Stopping Zhen did. A fast mag change on the run and his Glock returned to shoulder level as he fired. All his rounds went wild. Shooting when running and hitting a target, that only happened in Hollywood.
Zhen had opened the passenger door. He was half inside. The car’s tires were spinning. The remaining shooter had his back to the vehicle, defiantly shooting, his AR15 turning on Zeb as he came out in the open.
‘We’re inside.’ Beth. ‘Looks like a NASA control room. Screens and dashboards everywhere. And water.’
Zeb ignored her. His feet left the ground as bullets ripped into the air. His left hand outstretched, reaching, clawing for Zhen’s door handle.
From the corner of his eyes he saw the shooter jerk, stumble and fall.
Meg, he thought dimly. And then he caught hold of the door just as the car sped off.
He fell to the ground. Was dragged, his arm burning immediately from the savage pull. Zhen leaned out of the door. Mouth open in a soundless scream. Eyes wild. Hand producing a gun. The driver behind him. His head turning robotically as he looked at Zeb and then at the street, back at Zeb.
Zeb kicked out with his feet, groaned as he forced his shoulder to heave himself up, gritted his teeth as he brought his Glock up.
A pothole. The car bumped over it. The jolt snapped his head back, his Glock fell away as he lost his grip. But Zhen lost his weapon too. It fell to the ground, got crushed by the rear wheels.
‘SHOOT HIM!’ the gangster yelled at his driver.
The car was going at some pace, wobbling as the driver fought for control and also tried to obey his boss’s commands. His free hand came up. AR15 at the end of it.
Can’t. Let. Him. Shoot. The thought raced through Zeb as he forced another superhuman lunge and caught Zhen by his shirt and pulled him towards himself, using the gangster as shield and then the AR15 was chattering an
d the preman boss screamed as rounds pinged him and he was falling out and Zeb let go of him and the two men went rolling with momentum and when they stopped, Zeb was on his side, his head bleeding from a cut, but all he saw was Zhen’s eyes, blinking rapidly, mouth opening and closing, leaking blood.
‘You…’ the gangster whispered, as the world stopped its rapid turning and the street settled back to some semblance of calm and when a report sounded, Zeb looked up and saw Meghan had taken out the driver.
‘You know me?’ he turned to the gangster, cautiously feeling his back. It was soaked, the flesh shredded.
Lung shots, to his heart too, it looks like. It’s bad.
‘Carter…’ a twisted smile. His goatee reddening slowly as blood seeped into it. ‘We…should…stop…I…told…him. He…didn’t…listen.’
His eyes moved sluggishly to take in Meghan who had come from behind and stood over them.
‘Who?’ Zeb demanded urgently, resisting the urge to shake the man. ‘Give me a name.’
Zhen blinked. Something flickered in his eyes.
‘Zhen,’ Zeb pleaded, ‘you’re dying. How does it matter to you? Who’s he?’
A crafty look came over the preman boss. He shook his head minutely, groaning with the effort.
‘Not…him…’ Zeb bent his head down to catch his thin voice. ‘Another…man…see…if…you…can…find.’
He shuddered, drew a raspy breath, blood bubbling in his mouth.
‘Riyaz…Khalid…Ahmed.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Zeb looked at the gangster, now dead, for what seemed like long moments. He was aware the other operatives had joined them, were speaking in low voices.
Riyaz Khalid Ahmed. That isn’t a Russian name.
‘Zeb, we need to leave.’ Meghan, her hand on his shoulder. ‘The cops will come soon.’
He roused himself and searched Zhen’s body. Pocketed his phone and when he got to his feet, Beth held a baggie up with several phones in it. ‘From all the gangsters. We couldn’t question anyone. That firefight…none of them survived it.’
They hustled back to the river and climbed over the wall. An involuntary smile crossed his face when he noticed the pump was turned off, the hoses neatly rolled and hanging over it. Bet that’s Beth’s doing. She likes things neat and tidy.
A hard run along the river, then up the bridge and a dash to their SUVs. He took the driver’s seat in the first one, Meghan to his side, Bear and Chloe in the back, the rest in the second vehicle.
They drove out hard, little traffic obstructing them. He idled at a light, absently listening to Bear and Chloe talking softly, when a phone rang.
Mine’s on mute. He looked at the elder sister who shrugged. It wasn’t hers.
‘It’s Zhen’s,’ Meghan said excitedly and leaned over it when he fished it out. ‘Number withheld,’ she breathed. ‘Wait, don’t answer just yet.’
She brought out her device, pressed the record button on it and nodded at him.
Zeb accepted the call and an angry voice flooded the vehicle.
‘Zhen! I told you to call me every day. What happened?’
Someone sucked breath sharply. Chloe. Meghan, pale, eyes wide, staring at him.
We all speak that language.
‘ZHEN! Are you there?’
Zeb grunted, lowering his voice in an approximation of the preman boss. Hope that convinces him. The immediate hang-up told him it hadn’t worked.
Minutes ticked. A vehicle honked from behind. Bwana, gesticulating in the mirror.
‘What’s holding you up?’ he asked in their earpieces.
‘We got a call on Zhen’s phone,’ Meghan replied.
‘Ahmed?’
‘No. Someone Chinese.’
A moment of stunned silence and then clamor broke out as the operatives spoke over each other. Zeb lifted a hand to silence Meghan. He dialed another number.
‘Daritan, you must have heard of shooting in the Cakung Slum. Yeah, that’s us. Listen, don’t interrupt. Your people need to seize that place. Lock it down and make it secure. No publicity. Yes, that’s where the software program was. There were five engineers, several guards. All dead. Yes, I’m sure no more killings will happen now. Not in Asia at least. I can’t tell you more. I’m still figuring things out.’
He hung up and drove silently. Thinking furiously, stone-faced. He hadn’t recognized the Chinese voice nor was Ahmed familiar. Is he Arab? Pakistani? He could be from the West.
He glanced up at the patches of sky visible through high-rises. Cloud cover. A sense of foreboding filled him.
Until now we assumed this was some Russian play. But these new actors…for the first time, Zeb felt fear.
* * *
His team was subdued when they were back on the Gulfstream. He caught snatches of conversation. Meghan replaying the call to Broker. Her scoffing, of course, we’ll get Werner to run audio search.
The twins got on their screens as soon as the aircraft took off. They plugged in the List Asia hard drives and got to work.
Zeb watched them for a while. Headphones over their ears, heads bent, talking softly to each other. The rest of his friends, serious-looking. Bwana raised an eyebrow when he caught his eye. Nothing, Zeb mouthed, settled back and closed his eyes.
Nevada and Colorado, he decided. That’s where we need to go.
Leslie hung up immediately on hearing the strange voice on Zhen’s phone. He knew immediately what had happened. Carter. He attacked the Indonesia base. He reached for his phone again, his fingers trembling faintly and made another call to his contact, a high-ranking minister in Jakarta.
Five minutes later, he hung up and wiped perspiration from his forehead. It was as bad as he had feared. Details were still sketchy, but what was known was that there had been a firefight between Zhen’s people and unknown attackers. No preman had survived. The Cakung Brotherhood leader himself had been found dead. The BIN had stepped in immediately and had cordoned off the area. No information was forthcoming from them.
Leslie had more resources and contacts in Indonesia. It was not for nothing that he had risen to his position.
After half an hour of more calls, he had more information.
Carter and his team had flooded the computer room. A simple, devastating strategy that had sent Zhen’s people in a panic. The gang boss, realizing that there was little hope of escape, had killed the programmers. This was the contingency plan that Leslie had insisted on. Eye witnesses had seen a man and a woman chase the preman down the Cakung street and approach him as he lay dying.
Did Zhen say anything? Leslie pondered over it as a clock ticked in his office and minions worked outside.
He had a special relationship with the Brotherhood boss. They were friends. A business alliance had brought them together when the spymaster was still an unknown quantity. He had helped set up Zhen in business, back in the day when he himself had been raw and junior. He funded the Indonesian which enabled the preman boss to start his drugs and prostitution business. In return, the gangster fed him vital intelligence not just in the country but in the South-East Asian region, wherever the Cakung Brotherhood had a presence.
As the gang grew and diversified, Leslie had encouraged Zhen to get into the cybercrime space. A simple term to encompass a wide range of nefarious activity. He got the Brotherhood man to recruit good engineers. Election interference, that was where the return was. Get the right politicians elected, those who favored Leslie’s cause. Spread misinformation, create chaos, that was a byproduct.
And then, when he had hooked up with Williams and Smith, Zhen’s cyber operations had notched up several gears. The Europe man had provided Russian programmers, great engineers who were much better than Zhen’s. And then, the Cakung slum operation had focused solely on List Asia.
I’ll miss him, Leslie thought. He went to the discreet bar in his office and poured himself a drink. Back in the day, when both, he and the Indonesian had been upcoming, they had shared many a dr
eam. The gangster wanted to become the most feared man in the region. The spymaster wanted to reach the highest level in his country. They had drunk in small bars and had chased women together. Heck, he had even joined Zhen’s gang on a few raids, attacking rival gangs.
I got my wish. He? He got killed in the slum. By Carter.
Leslie did not believe in revenge and anger. Those were distracting emotions. They drained people of purpose. But now, in the privacy of his office, he allowed himself that luxury. Thinking of ways to kill Carter.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Leslie, Williams and Smith met in Tokyo the next day. They took more precautions this time. They flew under different names, to different cities, first. New Delhi, Mauritius, Singapore. They changed disguises at each intermediate stop and then took flights to their next destinations.
They met in a sushi bar in Minato, a crowded establishment packed with tourists and locals. The Asia man found them a corner table and hunched over their bowls; they discussed the latest developments.
There was no danger of their being overheard. Everyone was shouting, elbows and shoulders constantly jostled and their low voices were drowned in the ambient noise.
Williams and Smith listened to Leslie’s briefing with tightening lips and narrowing eyes.
‘You don’t know whether Zhen told Carter anything?’ The America man asked.
‘Do we even know if it’s Carter? Your man had many enemies,’ the Europe man interjected.
‘It’s Carter,’ Leslie said heavily. ‘No one has any clear description, but who else could it be? So soon, on the back of Chernihiv? No, let’s not fool ourselves. The American somehow got scent of that location and attacked. And no, I don’t know if Zhen confessed.’
‘He knew a lot.’ Smith said accusingly. ‘We told you not to tell him that much.’
‘He was a friend. He wasn’t like Tverskoy, just a tool to be used.’
‘If Carter knows, it’s the end. We should stop Hyde.’
Williams had come up with the program name. He had an ear for languages and his sense of irony had latched onto it. Smith and Leslie had gone along with him. It was just a name to them. Nothing more.