by Jake Striker
I gained the Lambo and peered inside.
The front passenger was strapped in his seat. His glassy eyes bulged and his mouth gaped.
He was obviously dead. His features were plainly Asian.
I spotted a tattoo on his neck. It was a dagger within a triangle.
That meant the Red Dragon Triad. It was no surprise.
I turned from the wreckage and stepped toward my Jeep. I took a dozen paces and my gut twisted.
The third Lambo. Where was the third Lambo?
As if on cue LEDs flared. It was the hostile SUV and it was speeding straight at me.
Its driver had chosen to hold back. He had opted to wait and join the fight.
Perhaps he had sensed a trap. It was hard to say and it no longer mattered.
What mattered now was finding cover. Deep cover.
In the open I was exposed. In the open I was dead.
I lunged into the treeline. Shadows and tall firs concealed me.
I let my panther eyes adjust and pierce the gloom. I waited and watched.
The Lambo halted on screeching rubber. Its doors sprang open.
Three soldiers emerged and brandished AKs. They peered at the wreckage and their fallen comrades.
Their leader barked a command. They dove into the treeline and stormed in my direction.
I had to give these troops credit for their tracking skills.
They were grimly determined. Damn right.
They were bent on snaring me and ripping me apart.
I had to stop them before they swarmed me. I had to find someplace to spring an ambush.
I had to work swiftly. Hesitation meant doom.
I sank deeper into the forest and crossed a narrow gully. I climbed a muddy rise and went prone.
Now I had an elevated position and an expanded field of fire.
I checked my gear. I had a dozen cartridges left in the Uzi's magazine.
I also had six backup mags in my MOLLE bandoleer.
Enough ammo to get the job done. Yeah.
If I played the odds correctly. There was zero margin for error.
The Triads were closing with determined strides. They reached the gully and paused.
I lay still and tightened my finger around the Uzi's trigger.
The darkness and terrain gave me a decent advantage. At least in theory.
I hoped so. I was counting on it.
The soldiers exchanged whispers. They stepped forward and crossed the gully.
They struggled for balance on muddy upsloping ground.
One trooper pressed ahead of the others. His eyes were chips of stone.
He clasped his AK with gloved hands. His comrades followed his lead a few paces behind.
Perhaps they thought they had me on the run. But they were wrong.
Dead wrong.
I loosed the Uzi.
The enemy pointman screamed and tumbled backward. He slithered onto the gully floor and went still.
I framed the next gunner and squeezed off.
The man twisted and toppled. His twitching finger triggered a long AK blast toward the sky.
Low-flying planes might be in danger. But none were in sight.
The Uzi's bolt locked back on an empty smoking chamber.
I ditched the spent magazine and reloaded fast. But not fast enough.
In that critical moment the surviving hitman made his move.
He palmed a frag grenade. A Russian-made F-1.
He armed the F-1 and lobbed it in my direction.
The fragger hit the side of the gully a few feet beneath me. It blew in churning flame and smoke.
The terrain absorbed the brunt of the blast.
That saved me from lethal damage. But not all damage.
Shockwaves reverberated over the rise. They struck me like giant fists.
My lungs emptied. I gasped and gagged.
Sharp spikes hit my ears and I swallowed a surge of nausea. Consciousness ebbed and flowed in ragged waves.
The night wobbled and spun around me.
I blinked hard to clear my blurred vision. My chest ached and my ears throbbed.
Hot needles stabbed my skin. I gulped air and refilled my lungs.
My vision blurred again and rippled back into focus. I gulped more air and the ringing in my ears subsided.
There was a rustling sound. It was the hostile trooper approaching across the gully.
I kept low and shoved sideways. I braced the Uzi over a fallen tree.
There was a moment of eerie quiet. Then another sound of rustling foliage.
The enemy hitman appeared on the top of the rise. He bared his teeth and gripped his AK.
Doubtless he thought I was dead or stunned.
In any case he was advancing fast. Too fast.
He did not have time to raise his weapon and take proper aim.
I triggered the Uzi in a fiery burst.
Scimitar bullets drilled the Triad's chest. He screamed and dropped his AK.
He tumbled backward. He rolled into the gully and went stiff.
I sucked a ragged breath. I pushed upright and steadied myself.
I scanned for more enemies and found none.
The hostile foot troops were all down. All dead.
I still had to deal with the driver from the final Lambo.
I shoved off in the direction of the road. I took a looping trek toward the treeline.
That got me into position behind the Triad SUV.
I spotted the driver. He was at the Lambo's wheel with its engine running.
I could not sneak past him and reach my Jeep safely. So I had to take him out.
I formed a quick plan. I scooped a rock and stepped from the trees.
I let the driver spot me in his wing mirror. Then I lobbed the rock toward him.
His eyes flared in panic. Doubtless he thought the rock was a grenade.
He hit his accelerator and the Lambo sprang forward. Then he realized his blunder and pulled a smoking U-turn.
He stomped his accelerator again and powered straight at me. I recognized him from his mugshot.
He was Yu Jin Liu̍k. A Triad hitman and a vicious psychopath.
He had butchered an SFPD vice cop and maimed a federal judge.
He had skillfully evaded justice. Until now.
I leveled the Uzi and slapped its trigger. I loosed a blazing salvo that emptied the subgun's magazine.
Scimitar bullets cored the Lambo's windshield.
Liu̍k's head snapped back in a crimson blur. His skull exploded above the jawline.
The unguided SUV swerved on screaming rubber. It smashed through a flimsy guard rail.
It plunged into a ravine and crashed onto jagged boulders.
A shriek of ruptured metal split the night. A fireball thrust fifty feet high.
Searing heat baked my skin. I gasped and reeled.
Another blast shook the ravine. Flames leaped and gushed.
I gasped again. I gulped air and wiped my stinging eyes.
Acrid fumes flared my nostrils and I grimaced. The flames flickered and cast eerie mottled shadows.
I sensed motion in the dark.
A figure appeared. It was Ava.
She was beautiful. She was perfect.
But she was a mirage. A ghost.
A reminder of lost love and ruined dreams.
I whispered her name. But she did not respond.
Her image faded and disappeared.
I sucked another breath and slowly exhaled. I had to refocus.
I scoured again for enemy troops and found none. There was no more resistance.
All right. Time to go.
I gained the Jeep and powered back onto the open road. I spat a curse.
The op was damn-near FUBAR. But quitting was not in my plan.
I had to forge on. I had to nail Colonel Toom.
I checked my GPS and roared toward my next destination.
2
Black Bay Point, north of San F
rancisco
Thirty minutes later
I gripped the Jeep's wheel and surged along Highway 15.
I scanned for hostile SUVs. There were none.
I was running clear. So far.
I angled south onto Wildcat Road. I peered across Black Bay and spotted San Quentin State Prison.
My father had spent five years inside SanQ for Grand Theft Auto. I shut down the bad memories and drove on.
My gasoline gauge read almost empty.
I pulled into a Texaco service station and refueled the Jeep.
I scanned the vehicle. Its tires and drivetrain were intact.
It was rolling strong and still in the fight.
I left the Texaco and stayed on Wildcat for another eight miles.
I turned on Sausalito Street and reached the mission safehouse. It was a drab bungalow with a cramped front yard.
I parked on the driveway and quit the Jeep. I edged inside the house with the Uzi in my fists.
I discovered no signs of intrusion. There was no deadly motion.
I drew a sharp breath. It was not paranoia.
It was making sure.
I entered the master bedroom and opened a concealed safe. I found guns and gear requested in advance.
Everything was packed inside stout duffel bags. It was enough firepower to launch a lightning assault.
I hauled the bags and stowed them in the Jeep. I returned to the bedroom and opened a closet.
I pulled combat garb and changed quickly. There was zero time to waste.
I had to strike my target ASAP.
Success was far from guaranteed. But I meant to try.
I made final checks and secured the house. Then I hit the road again and cruised east on Interstate 580.
I passed San Quentin and reached Rio Vista Parkway.
I powered on and entered El Guerrero Heights. It was a secluded tract where Colonel Toom lived in baronial splendor.
He should be home tonight.
I hoped so. I was counting on it.
My GPS squawked. "Turn left in fifty feet."
I angled off the blacktop onto an unpaved trail. I drove for two rugged miles.
I braked and parked.
Towering firs and deep shadows engulfed me. They gave me decent cover.
I slid from the Jeep and readied my gear.
I was rigged for action. Rigged for war.
I locked the Jeep and set its theft alarm.
After the mission I planned on returning to the SUV. Assuming it was still intact.
Assuming I survived.
If I was KIA it would not matter. Dead was dead.
In that event my existence would be denied. I carried no ID and there was no fingerprint match to trace me.
There was no dental record on file and no DNA. There was nothing at all.
I checked my GPS and shoved off. My route took me through the trees and over sloping terrain.
I wore MARPAT woodland camouflage and a SWAT-type Kevlar helmet. I wore Nomex flame-resistant gloves.
I had daubed my face with black and gray warpaint.
Polycarb goggles shielded my eyes.
Their coated lenses sharpened my panther vision.
MOLLE webbing supported my ammo. ALICE webbing held my knife and other gear.
I hauled my Uzi submachine gun. It was fitted with a Sionics sound suppressor.
That reduced its normal bark to a stuttering rattle.
I moved ahead with determined strides. Foliage brushed against me and fallen leaves crunched under my boots.
Of course no soldier could operate with total stealth. No soldier was a gliding ghost.
That might happen in dramatic works of fiction. But not in real life.
Again I checked my GPS. I adjusted my route and pressed on.
Moonlight gleamed and cast dappled shadows.
I took a few more steps.
An icy tremor ran down my spine. It warned me I was not alone.
It warned me something was waiting.
I paused and scanned for danger. I swept each flank with my finger on the Uzi's trigger.
There was a rustling noise and a flash of motion. A red Bobcat appeared.
Such animals were common to the Bay area. But they were rarely seen.
The Bobcat's eyes glistened. He growled and bolted for cover.
I wished him good luck and good hunting.
I had no quarrel with beasts in the wild. They caused me no anguish.
It was human predators who made me wary. It was human predators who sought to slay me.
I pressed on. I was near the coastline where it met San Francisco Bay.
Fog crawled inland off the cold water and coiled around me. It chilled me and pierced bone deep.
The fog was an ally. Sure.
I wore it like a cloak and it hid my advance. But it did not guarantee safety.
Snipers could still nail me. Their night-vision scopes could still pin me.
I crested a wooded slope and reached a treeline. I dropped to one knee behind a screen of foliage.
I scanned ahead and spotted a Gothic mansion. It was two hundred yards downrange.
Intel told me it was Toom's lair. It was an HQ and a nerve center.
The estate was ringed by an eight-foot stone wall. It was topped with iron spikes.
That made it impossible to scale.
I had to find another way in. Yeah.
I peered closer.
The wall was inlaid with polished copper triangles. They were ancient Chinese tokens.
They were meant to ward off invaders. But it would not work.
I was not deterred by superstition. Only brute force would stop me.
I stayed inside the trees. I double-checked my guns and gear.
A sound hit my ears and grew louder. It was the din of a helicopter engine outside the house.
The helo thrust upward. It was an Aero Skyhawk.
I spat a curse. I did not have the firepower to nail a fast-moving rotorcraft.
I did not have the range or accuracy needed.
The helo's turbine shrieked.
It veered forward and gained airspeed. It plunged through the fog and powered east.
Grim realization clicked in my head.
Doubtless Colonel Toom was aboard the Skyhawk. Doubtless he was racing to parts unknown.
The bastard was doing it. He was escaping.
The helo's turbine shrieked even louder as it accelerated.
It vanished into pitch-black dark.
I cursed. Obviously Toom had understood his danger and opted to run.
I had hoped he would stand and fight. But no.
He had dodged me.
My gut knotted. Failure weighed on my shoulders.
My pulse throbbed in my ears.
I breathed deep and decided I would not retreat. Instead I would press my attack and hit Toom's HQ.
I had to stay on the offensive. I had to use every weapon at my disposal.
I meant to kill as many Triad thugs as possible.
But I was realistic. I could not smash an entire army in one strike.
I was not John Rambo. Not even close.
That said I had to move quickly. I had to assault with lightning speed.
First I needed to scout the estate. It was a vital step in my battle plan.
I sprang a Wasp micro-drone from its MOLLE pouch. I switched its power supply on and checked its readiness.
All systems were go.
I launched the Wasp from the palm of my hand.
It was built from carbon fiber. It weighed less than one ounce.
It was designed for special ops and proven in combat.
The drone soared fifty feet into the air. It vaulted forward.
I guided it with a Remote-Control Unit.
The RCU's viewscreen showed an HD image of the ground. That fed from an infrared a camera in the Wasp's nose.
I piloted the drone downrange. Its battery life was fifteen minute
s.
The Wasp's fan motor produced a faint hum. It would not alert enemy personnel.
I kept my eyes on the RCU's viewscreen. I kept my right hand on the unit's flight control stick.
The radio datalink was encrypted to prevent jamming.
I guided the Wasp over the estate's wall.
Its infrared lens revealed manicured grass.
Also rows of hemlock trees and red oaks.
I urged the drone farther ahead and checked my viewscreen.
Toom's mansion appeared. It was dark and solemn.
It was built from rough gray granite.
A gravel driveway looped around the manse. It connected to a wrought-iron gate.
I rolled the Wasp into a circular flightpath and kept scanning.
Red blobs showed on-screen. They were Triad guards.
They were patrolling the mansion's exterior.
I counted six men in total. Doubtless more troops were on call.
I veered the Wasp over the mansion's east wing.
Two more blobs showed on-screen.
I zoomed the Wasp's camera and the infrared image intensified. I recognized two men.
They were heading from the helipad back to the mansion.
The shorter man was Lu Kam and he was Toom's main enforcer. He was a bloody cutthroat.
He was a killer of women and children.
The taller man was Vincent Fong. He was a Triad interrogator.
He took sick pleasure from hideous acts of torture.
Both men had to die. Absolutely.
Assuming I could reach them.
I switched on the Wasp's radio-signal detector.
The detector was meant to pinpoint electronic snooping gear. It could sniff out CCTVs and microphones.
I scanned far and wide. I found no such gear.
Apparently Toom was old-school when it came to defense.
He favored armed guards and seclusion over modern surveillance.
That was a tactical mistake. But I could not get overconfident.
Penetration of Toom's estate would pose great risk.
Any fumble would get me killed. Like always.
I swung the Wasp through a final circuit and kept scanning.
I spotted a Quonset hut. It was nestled between tall hemlocks.
It was painted green to blend with the terrain.
The Quonset was no surprise. According to intel it was a narcotics research lab.
Mob chemists labored there to create potent opioids.
I made a quick decision.
I would breach the lab. I would kill its personnel and wreck its gear.