Ice Cold Kill

by Jake Striker

I snagged the Zi-ha and stowed it for later use. It would serve me well if I ran out of wheelgun ammunition.

  There was more hostile gunfire.

  Buckshot pellets buzzed overhead like swarms of angry hornets. Bullets zoomed past my shoulder.

  Muzzle flame lit the fog like chain-lightning.

  A bullet fragment gashed my temple. Pain flared and warm blood flecked my face.

  I cursed and recoiled deeper behind the tombstone. I blinked hard to clear my vision.

  The tombstone took more scattered hits. But it remained intact.

  I was covered. Sure.

  But I was far from safe. In moments I would be surrounded.

  I needed shock and awe. A swift killing blow.

  The usual.

  I reached and found my M-67 grenade by touch. I shot a glance uprange.

  Two Triad gunners were bolting toward me with guns raised. They were pushing through the fog.

  I calculated angle and timing. I ripped the M-67's pin and made the lob.

  The fragger arced high. It tumbled and slammed down between the advancing men.

  Its fuze died and it blew in a stabbing flash. It sprayed a hellstorm of red-hot shrapnel.

  Shockwaves flattened one man against a stone cross. His mouth gaped and he slithered into a gory heap.

  The second thug was bleeding from a nasty forehead gash. Otherwise he was intact.

  He was a lucky SOB. But no one's luck lasted forever.

  No one was invincible.

  I took aim and hit the M-500's trigger.

  An SST cored the man's chest. He staggered and twisted into an ugly attitude of death.

  I swallowed hard. I clenched my teeth against the coppery taste of raw adrenaline.

  It was time to move. Again.

  I bolted from my cover and grabbed a fallen AK. I kept moving and darted behind another tombstone.

  There was brand-new motion. A Triad gunner lurched from the corner of a crypt.

  He swung his weapon in my direction. But he never got the chance to aim or fire.

  I hit him with an AK shelling. He thudded against the crypt and toppled facedown.

  I had two enemies left to battle. Where were they?

  As if on cue a shotgun exploded downrange. Heavy pellets battered the tombstone in front of me.

  I raised the AK and triggered a fiery barrage.

  It was a clean miss. But it forced my opponent backward.

  That gave me time to reposition.

  I sprang upright and rushed ahead. I gained another gargoyle and dropped behind it.

  The Triad thug hesitated and seemed unsure of my new location.

  He gripped his scattergun and pointed it downrange. He was aiming in the wrong direction.

  I braced the AK and gave a low whistle. "Over here."

  The hitman spun toward me. His face was a pallid mask of shock.

  He leveled his shotgun and took aim. Too late.

  I loosed an autofire shelling that emptied the AK's magazine.

  Bullets gouged the man and he reeled against a tombstone. He sat down hard and went stiff.

  That left one Triad on the prowl.

  I ditched the spent AK and pulled my captured Zi-ha dagger. I had to conserve ammunition.

  I was a believer in edged weapons. They never jammed and never needed reloading.

  They were powerful killing tools in trained hands.

  Again I probed for enemy action.

  There was a scuffling sound. Hasty footsteps.

  I glanced around my cover. I narrowed my panther eyes and picked out the gunman.

  He was approaching in a crouch-walk. His silhouette was pitch-black against the moonlight.

  He was searching. But without success.

  I stayed immobile and let my opponent angle closer. I tightened my grip on the Zi-ha and made a silent countdown.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  Now!

  I sprang toward the Triad. I plunged the dagger into his ribcage.

  The man stumbled and lost his AK. His face twisted and he gagged and gasped.

  His fingers clutched at the gleaming blade buried in his torso.

  I scooped the fallen AK and swept its muzzle into action. But I never got a chance to pull the trigger.

  The man toppled onto the ground. He thrashed and went still.

  There was eerie silence and sudden calm. Fog rolled across the dead troops and covered them like a shroud.

  I probed the night for new threats and found none. I discovered no sign of hostile motion.

  All right. Time to go.

  I bolted through the cemetery. I kept the AK up and ready.

  There was no opposing gunfire and no one tried to stop me.

  I sprinted into the woods and reached my Jeep. I powered back onto paved road.

  I was heading back to San Francisco.

  I had another plan in mind. Another scheme to gain the information I needed.

  It was a long shot. Sure.

  But I had to stay in motion.

  I had to pinpoint Colonel Toom and make the kill.

  I had to settle all outstanding debts. In blood.

  4

  Chinatown, San Francisco

  Fifty minutes later

  I angled left onto Pacific Avenue.

  I entered Chinatown's Central District. It was a bustling maze of streets and alleys.

  I rolled south over Mezzanine Road for several city blocks. I passed loud karaoke bars and Chinese eateries.

  Everything was lit by flashing neon. Paper lanterns glowed yellow and red in the dark.

  Gargoyle masks and dragon figures dangled across the sidewalk.

  I drove for six more blocks and entered a darker section of town. My GPS squawked and told me I had reached my destination.

  I nosed the Jeep into an all-night parking lot. I circled the lot and checked for suspicious activity.

  I found none. There was no obvious evidence of a lurking hit squad.

  There was no sign I had blown my cover.

  I pulled into a remote stall and parked. Next I paid the lot fee at an automated kiosk.

  I prepped my guns and gear for the mission. I was ready.

  Not invincible.

  Ready.

  I carried the Uzi beneath my jacket. I also hauled spare magazines and a suppressor.

  I wore a tactical backpack that held extra kit.

  The gear lent me a bulky look. But in the dark it would not alert passersby.

  I set off on foot toward my objective. Dark shadows coiled around me.

  I let my panther eyes pierce the gloom. I glanced up at nearby buildings.

  Snipers could be perched on the rooftops. They could be primed to trigger their rifles.

  A bullet in the skull would not help me. Not at all.

  I shrugged off the dismal thought and focused on the mission. I sped my pace and stayed inside murky shadows.

  My target was a Triad Boss named Liam Quan. He was one of Colonel Toom's top lieutenants.

  I meant to capture Quan and squeeze him for Toom's present location. Assuming he had the details.

  I was betting he did.

  Quan was a monster. He was a pedophile and a human trafficker.

  He used children to satisfy his sick desires.

  I forged on.

  After fifty yards I gained Quan's residence. It was an elegant brownstone built in the 1920s.

  It was called The Excelsior Hotel.

  Quan owned the entire building. He had restored it at vast expense.

  He had converted its topmost floor into a luxury penthouse.

  He kept the other floors sealed to assure privacy and security.

  I stood and watched the structure for several minutes. I was prepared to start my infiltration.

  There was sudden motion.

  The Excelsior's front door snapped open and a man emerged. He was shielded by two bulky guards.

  I recognized his face immed
iately from an intel mugshot. I could not mistake his bullet head and dark hooded eyes.

  It was Vito LaBrava and he was a Mafia Mob boss. His territory covered San Francisco.

  He was powerful and vicious.

  His nickname was the Butcher. He was known to execute captured rivals with a chainsaw.

  He strode ahead with his torpedoes.

  He boarded a Cadillac Escalade. Its black paint and chrome trim gleamed under streetlights.

  Moments later the Escalade was in motion. It was rolling west in the direction of nearby Russian Hill.

  Doubtless LaBrava had concluded a meeting with Quan.

  That was no surprise. It was known that the pair cooperated for mutual profit.

  The Escalade angled left on Saxonburg Street and disappeared.

  I reckoned LaBrava was returning to his mansion. It was located on Russian Hill's highest point.

  I switched my attention back to Quan's lair. I drew a sharp breath.

  Time to roll.

  I trod toward a pitch-black alley. It ran beside the Excelsior.

  The alley was sealed off by a chain-link gate.

  That was expected and I was prepared. I had wire-cutters to snip the links.

  There was motion at the far end of the alley. Again I had come prepared.

  I crouched by the fence and palmed a VetGun dart pistol. I pulled my dog whistle and blew it twice.

  A large canine charged down the alley. It was a Doberman Pinscher.

  The Doberman was a brave and powerful breed. He was responding to the whistle call.

  His action was based on instinct and training. It was a show of loyalty and courage.

  I aimed the VetGun and hit its trigger. The gun's CO-2 cartridge fired a sedative dart.

  The Doberman was snarling and bounding in my direction. Then the dart hit and he staggered.

  He flopped sideways and rolled over. He was inert now and no longer a threat.

  He would wake refreshed in a few hours.

  I reloaded the VetGun and blew my whistle twice more. No other Dobermans charged or barked.

  I stowed the gun and the whistle. I palmed my cutters and snipped a flap in the fence.

  I slid through the flap and closed it. Now I was inside the alley.

  I drew another sharp breath. So far and so good.

  I stalked toward a fire escape. Its lowest rung was eight feet above ground level.

  It was fitted with a spring-loaded ladder.

  I made a running leap. Then I grasped the ladder and tugged it down.

  I scrambled upward onto the fire escape's landing.

  I crouched and cracked a wicked grin. I was making solid progress and moving undetected.

  There was a sudden startling wail.

  My grin died and I stiffened.

  The wail grew louder. It was a police siren.

  An SFPD squad car was speeding toward my location. Its colored lights flashed and popped.

  I crouched lower and braced for trouble. Had I tripped an intruder alarm?

  The squad car kept rolling and its headlights flared. It turned onto a sidestreet and vanished from sight.

  Doubtless it was racing to some distant emergency.

  The siren din faded. Silence and stillness returned.

  All right. Time to advance.

  I pushed up and climbed the fire escape's main ladder. Moments later I reached the building's flat roof.

  I hit another crouch. I scanned and listened.

  No alarms shrieked. No troops rushed in my direction.

  I drew another deep breath. My luck was holding.

  I checked again for roving guards and found none.

  I slipped onto the roof and darted behind a hulking AC block. It was one of six that provided cool air to the floors below.

  I peered across the roof. Its far side was equipped with a helipad.

  No doubt Quan used it for takeoffs and landings.

  According to intel he owned several executive helos. But the pad was empty at this late hour.

  I shifted along the AC and glanced around it.

  I spotted my objective. It was a rooftop door and it was fifty paces ahead.

  I peered closer.

  A CCTV camera hung above the door.

  I had to blind it before I could proceed. Again I was prepared.

  I pulled a Stingray EMP pistol. I aimed at the CCTV and squeezed the Stingray's trigger.

  An EMP pulse hit the camera. That fried its innards.

  It drooped on its mount and pointed straight down.

  Now I could advance undetected. Unless I had missed some other sensor.

  If so I would find out soon.

  I stowed the Stingray. I bolted ahead and gained the door.

  Now I had to break the lock. That would require a strike from my Tanto knife.

  I reached for the Tanto. But I never got the chance to use it.

  Footsteps echoed from behind the door.

  Someone was approaching from the inside.

  I sheathed the Tanto and raced toward an AC block. I sank behind the AC and pulled my Uzi with its suppressor.

  I waited and watched through narrowed eyes.

  The door burst open and two troops emerged. They gripped folding-stock AKs.

  Had they detected my presence? Or was this a routine patrol?

  It was hard to say and it did not matter. What mattered was taking both men down.

  I had to act fast. Anything less meant certain doom.

  The guards split up.

  One man trod toward the opposite edge of the roof. The other shifted in my direction.

  I tightened my finger on the Uzi's trigger.

  Moments later the guard appeared around the side of the AC. He saw me at once and his eyes flared in shock.

  He raised his AK. Too late.

  I drew the Uzi's trigger and loosed a short Scimitar salvo.

  Bullets cored the man's sternum. He toppled backward and hit the rooftop with a dull thud.

  He uttered a strangled gasp and went stiff.

  One down.

  I grabbed the fallen AK and slung it across my chest. Doubtless I would need it soon.

  Very soon.

  I reached out and grasped the dead man's ankles. I pulled him into deep shadow.

  I leveled the Uzi and watched.

  Thick fog swirled from the nearby bay. It rolled over the roof and hindered visibility.

  Where was the other guard? I had to find him and drop him.

  I had to work fast. Every second counted now and I could not fail.

  There was a scuffling sound.

  The guard stepped around an AC to my left. He saw me and gasped.

  We had missed each other in the dark and fog. Now we were at bad-breath range.

  The Triad hitman recovered swiftly.

  He gripped his AK and swung its muzzle toward my chest. But he never made his shot.

  I smashed the Uzi's metal butt against the guard's forehead. The impact carved an ugly gash across his hairline.

  He lost his AK and staggered backward. He tumbled over the edge of the roof.

  I stepped ahead and peered down.

  The dead man was sprawled on concrete. Blood oozed from under his broken torso.

  His eyes bulged and stared blindly up at me. One leg kicked and went stiff.

  I retreated from the rooftop and scowled. How long before shifts changed and new guards appeared?

  The combat clock was running. The doomsday numbers were falling.

  I angled toward the access door. I found the troops had left it unlocked.

  I eased through and entered a narrow corridor. No one blocked my way.

  I took a few more strides and reached a dim concrete stairwell. My panther eyes pierced the gloom.

  I descended with caution. I kept the Uzi braced and ready for action.

  I discovered no imminent threats. The stairwell was still and quiet.

  I took a dozen more steps and gained a landing.


  A service door loomed ahead. What was behind it?

  I unzipped my backpack and palmed a SpyScan fiber-optic camera. I eased the curved camera wire through a gap under the door.

  I rotated the wire to scan what lay beyond.

  The SpyScan's HD viewscreen showed a long corridor. It was lined with plush carpet and lit by ornate chandeliers.

  I spotted another door at the end of the passage. It was painted blood-red.

  According to intel it led to Quan's penthouse suite.

  Two guards stood by the door. They were sipping tea and conversing in whispers.

  Their AKs dangled on slings at their sides.

  They were not the most alert troops I had encountered. But they could still shoot me dead if I fumbled my approach.

  I pulled the SpyScan and stowed it.

  I detached the Uzi's suppressor. Stealth would be moot when I made my next move.

  I slung the Uzi and grasped Thumper. It was an M-79 single-shot grenade launcher.

  I had a breaching grenade loaded in the M-79's chamber. It contained a reduced HE charge to bust the penthouse door.

  I tightened my grip on Thumper and flicked off its safety. I started a silent countdown.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  Now!

  I shoved the landing door open and triggered my M-79. It bucked against my shoulder and its muzzle belched flame.

  The grenade hurtled down the corridor. It struck the penthouse door dead-center.

  Thunderous shockwaves smashed the door into splinters.

  Both guards shrieked and spilled their tea. But spilled tea was the least of their problems.

  They reeled against the breacher's flash and blast.

  They groped for their weapons. Too late.

  I had the Uzi up and I loosed two rapid salvos.

  Scimitar bullets hit both men. They twisted and toppled.

  Four troops down so far. How many left to battle?

  I bolted along the corridor and gained the battered doorway. I reached for my ALICE belt and hefted a slim green cylinder.

  It was an M-84 stun grenade.

  It held a pyrotechnic charge of magnesium and ammonium nitrate.

  The M-84 had a two-second fuze.

  That gave my opposition no useful time to react. At least in theory.

  I loosened the M-84's arming pin.

  There was sudden motion.

  Two men were shifting across the foyer inside the apartment. They carried AKs and that made them a lethal threat.

  I freed the M-84's pin and lobbed the can toward my foes.