by Jake Striker
The stunner exploded in one man's startled face. He was flattened by the shockwave.
The other thug was pummeled by the grenade's flash and blast. He shrieked and dropped his AK.
I wasted no time. I leveled my Uzi and triggered a zigzag burst.
The trooper spun like a crazed disco dancer. He spat blood and crashed chest down.
I gritted my teeth and thrust inside the apartment. I spotted luxurious furnishings and lavish appointments.
I saw a Ming vase that had to be worth millions. Beyond that I saw priceless artwork.
I recognized Death Stalks the Night by Jean-Michel Basquiat. Also Ten Gates of Hell by Pablo Picasso.
I forged on with the Uzi leading. I probed and registered another flash of motion.
I dodged left and dropped behind a bulky leather sofa.
A skinny figure snarled. He snapped off a single shot from a SIG autopistol.
The bullet zoomed past my ear and drilled the Ming vase. It shattered into jagged shards.
A few slivers nicked my face and forehead. I grimaced and plunged deeper beneath my cover.
The enemy shooter fired his SIG twice more. But he did not bother to aim.
Both slugs missed me by a few feet. They smacked a nearby wall in puffs of plaster.
The man loosed his SIG again. His shots were all wild.
Six bullets zoomed overhead.
They mangled artwork.
They punctured Lucifer's Concubine by Salvador Dalí.
I raised the Uzi and tightened my trigger finger. I primed myself to return fire.
In that same instant I recognized the gunman. It was Liam Quan.
I registered his typical thug features. His black snake eyes and thin cruel mouth.
I aimed the Uzi. But I was too slow.
Quan reeled and ducked out of sight into another room.
I had to give chase. I could not let the bastard escape.
I leaped from behind my cover and surged through the apartment.
A sound hit my ears. A harsh metallic clang.
I swung around the next corner with the Uzi leading.
I discovered a closed steel door. I grasped the door's handle and found it locked.
My gut pulled tight with grim realization.
It was an emergency exit that had been missed by intel.
It must lead somewhere. But where?
There was no way to be sure. And there was no point guessing.
I scowled and cursed. I could not search the entire building in the time allowed.
That meant Quan was beyond my reach.
I turned to scour the apartment for any useful clues. Any info that might aid my quest.
I found nothing helpful. I scowled again.
Damn. Another hard fail.
I registered brand-new motion. I spun to meet the threat and brought the Uzi into action.
My opponent was lunging at me with a pistol in his fist. He was a Triad guard and he was shaking with rage.
He shoved the pistol in my direction and pulled its trigger.
At the same instant I slapped the Uzi's trigger. Both guns exploded at once.
My bullets drilled the man's chest and he was dead on his feet.
A hammer blow hit my own chest and I vaulted backward. I slammed against a wall and slithered down.
I gagged and gulped air. The room wobbled and rippled around me.
I blinked hard to clear my blurred vision.
I probed with my gloved finger. I found that my Kevlar vest had stopped the pistol bullet.
Still the impact had shocked my system.
My legs went cold. My feet went numb.
Move. Gotta move!
I gulped more air and shoved upright. I staggered and almost toppled.
I steadied myself and regained my balance. I drew another deep breath.
A brand-new sound hit my ears.
The sound grew louder. It was the din of a helicopter engine.
It was coming from the rooftop helipad.
Ugly realization clicked in my head.
Quan must have called for emergency extraction.
Now his pilot had arrived for a lightning pickup.
My grimace darkened. Quan was about to soar off to parts unknown.
I had to stop him. Damn right.
I had to shut him down. Forever.
I backtracked out of the wrecked apartment.
I sprinted along the corridor to the stairwell beyond. I hit the steps and bounded toward the roof's access door.
As I moved I stowed the Uzi. I grasped my captured AK with its fifty-round drum magazine.
I reached the open doorway and shouldered through. I surged out onto the rooftop and peered at the helipad.
A bird was gaining lift-off. An Aero Skyhawk.
Its rotors thrashed and its turbine shrieked.
The pilot was visible through the bubble windshield. He clenched his teeth and gripped his controls.
Liam Quan was strapped into the passenger seat. His face glistened with sweat and his black hair was disheveled.
We locked eyes and Quan gave a defiant wave of his fist.
The Skyhawk soared upward. It raced overhead through the swirling fog.
It veered toward San Francisco Bay.
It was nosing toward Alcatraz Island. In seconds it would be gone.
My pulse roared in my ears. A growl burst from my throat.
I raised my AK and triggered a blazing burst of autofire.
Heavy AK slugs walloped the Skyhawk's engine pod and tail boom.
I loosed another AK shelling that emptied the weapon's magazine. Almost every shot was on target.
Black smoke billowed from the Skyhawk's turbine. There was a spurt of yellow flame.
The bird wobbled and pitched sharply upward.
I ditched the spent AK and pulled my M-500 wheelgun.
The Skyhawk slewed back toward me.
The pilot grappled with his controls and tried to stay airborne. But it was a losing battle.
The helo slid backward with its tail tilted straight down. More black smoke spewed from its ravaged engine.
I braced the M-500 in both hands and triggered five rapid shots. The gun breathed fire and kicked hard against my gloved palm.
Super-heavy SST bullets roared up at the helo. The SSTs left vapor trails as they hurtled toward impact.
Fist-size holes erupted in the Skyhawk's windshield. The pilot jerked in his seat and went stiff.
I dumped the revolver's spent brass and reloaded swiftly. I took aim at the stricken helo.
I glimpsed Quan's pallid face. It was a mask of rising terror.
He mouthed a scream and clawed at his safety belt. His eyes were wide and bulging.
The Skyhawk flipped and nosedived into a death-spin.
I leveled the M-500 and triggered five more shots. Every slug gouged and tore the helo's fuselage.
It was overkill at this point. But I did not care.
The Skyhawk continued its nosedive and hit the bay's inky water.
Explosive impact wrenched the bird apart.
It erupted into mangled metalwork and fractured rotors.
Churning foam sprayed in all directions. Twisted debris tumbled and skittered across the bay.
Nearby vessels might be in danger. But none were in sight.
Quan was dead and gone. His evil was vanquished.
I had to get moving. I stowed the M-500 and bolted over the rooftop.
I reached the fire escape and raced down its steps. The night was a spinning blur.
I gained the fire escape's bottom rung and leaped into freefall.
I landed awkwardly. I staggered and found my balance.
It was not a textbook touchdown. But good enough.
At least I was intact.
I scanned for danger and found none. I kicked off and powered along the alley.
I reached the fence and shoved open the flap I had cut earlier. No one tried to stop me and no guns exploded.
/>
I had one more task before I bailed out.
I patted the sleeping Doberman. Then I pulled the tranquilizer dart from his hide.
I backtracked downrange toward my Jeep.
A wail of police sirens hit my ears. A Coast Guard sea horn echoed off the bay.
I reached my Jeep and powered out. In moments I was on Mezzanine Road and rolling west.
I had fumbled my plan to abduct Quan. I still did not have intel to pinpoint Colonel Toom.
I drew a deep breath.
The mission was not a dead loss. Not yet.
I angled onto Saxonburg Street and veered toward Russian Hill. I had a brand-new plan.
I was headed for Vito LaBrava. He was the Mafia Boss I had spotted leaving Quan's hideout.
I meant to snag LaBrava and gain the intel I badly needed.
LaBrava was cooperating with Quan.
Yeah.
I had to assume he knew something about Colonel Toom's location.
It was a long shot. Granted.
But I had to try.
In fact there was no choice. It was a desperate move in a desperate situation.
I hit my accelerator and surged ahead.
Straight toward Vito LaBrava's Russian Hill hardsite.
5
Russian Hill, San Francisco
Twenty minutes later
I reached Presidio Street and parked. I quit the Jeep and set off on foot.
I was approaching Vito LaBrava's opulent mansion.
As I moved I palmed my Nightstalker goggles. I slid the goggles over my eyes and switched them on.
Again the darkness turned into a red-lit twilight. Again the swirling fog looked like weightless flowing blood.
I covered fifty more paces and loitered by a sycamore tree. I scanned the estate's wrought-iron entry gate.
I found no evidence of enemy patrols. There was no sign of lurking hitmen.
If there was any danger it was beyond visual range.
I angled toward the mansion's six-foot stone privacy wall. I drew a sharp breath and scaled the barrier with nimble motions.
There were no metal spikes or coils of razor wire to stop me.
I crouched atop the wall and palmed my ultrasonic whistle. I blew the whistle three times in rapid succession.
No dogs barked or charged.
I pulled my Uzi. I fitted its suppressor and checked its load.
The subgun was ready for action.
I drew another breath and dropped inside LaBrava's compound.
I landed on spongy grass and hit another crouch. I brought the Uzi up and swept for opposition.
No troops appeared. No gun muzzles flashed.
My infiltration was proceeding smoothly.
Yeah. Too smoothly.
An icy tremor told me something was about to go badly wrong.
I shut down the dismal notion and kept scanning. Through the fog I spotted hulking shapes.
The shapes were massive stone lions.
I counted six in total along the estate's gravel driveway. They were ten feet tall and cut from black volcanic rock.
I could not resist a sneer.
The lions were a symbol of LaBrava's ego and sense of power. He believed he was the fiercest cat in the jungle.
But he was wrong. Dead wrong.
I kicked off toward the looming house. It was a sprawling Spanish Colonial design.
It boasted scarlet barrel tile and cream-painted stucco.
I pressed on. I used trees and tall shrubs for cover.
After fifty yards I reached the mansion's east corner. I slid into deep shadow and dropped low.
I let my combat senses probe for any sign I had been discovered. I found none.
All right.
I peered up at the house and studied a large balcony. It overlooked a gravel courtyard.
Its sliding glass door gave access to LaBrava's private office.
Assuming my intel was correct.
I hoped so. I was counting on it.
I had to scale a wrought-iron trellis and gain the balcony. Then I would crack the door and charge inside the house.
It would be a loud and crude invasion. Granted.
But I was short on time and I needed to snag my target ASAP. That called for speed versus stealth.
I had to find LaBrava and pin him. Fast.
I shoved off and reached the trellis. I grasped the first rung and started climbing.
Another cold tremor ran down my spine. If I was discovered now I was doomed.
It would be a simple job for gunmen to snipe me from below.
I gritted my teeth and kept going. Ivy leaves scratched along my arms and legs.
No one was shooting. There were no warning shouts.
There were no blaring klaxons or glaring security lamps. So far.
How long before sentries arrived? How long before a routine patrol stumbled across me?
I gained the balcony and hauled over its safety rail. I landed in a crouch and let my respiration stabilize.
I let my heart rate level off at forty-five beats per-minute. Next I glanced through the Nightstalkers and checked for danger.
The space beneath the balcony was dead still. There was no hostile motion.
LaBrava's Cadillac Escalade sat in front of the house.
I peered closer.
There was no one at the big SUV's wheel. No sign of a waiting driver.
I turned toward the sliding door. I probed through its glass pane into the room beyond.
It was dark and silent at this late hour.
I studied the slider. I had to crack its lock with a strike from my Tanto knife.
I reached for the Tanto. But I never got a chance to pull it.
A loud bang broke the silence. The mansion's heavy front door had slammed open.
I spun toward the sound and scanned through my Nightstalkers.
Three men burst from the house onto the courtyard. They rushed toward the parked Escalade.
One man hit a keyless remote.
There was a shrill chirp and the SUV's LEDs blazed. Its V-8 motor fired with a throaty metallic snarl.
I recognized LaBrava wedged between two stone-faced troops.
Each guard carried a CZ subgun. All three men marched ahead with swift determined strides.
Doubtless they meant to board the SUV and take off at high speed.
LaBrava must have caught word of Liam Quan's demise. He must have figured he was on the hit list.
So he was bailing out. Going where?
I had no idea and it did not matter. What mattered was stopping the Mafia Boss before he escaped.
I raised the Uzi and took aim as the men reached the Escalade.
Now!
I hit the Uzi's trigger to unleash a Scimitar bombing.
The nearest guard absorbed multiple hits and crashed facedown.
The next thug twisted and swung his CZ in my direction. But it was too late.
I loosed another Uzi barrage.
The man screamed and vaulted off his feet. As he fell his trigger finger spasmed and the CZ spat flame.
Bullets pummeled the Escalade's driver door and gouged metal.
Three slugs ricocheted and drilled LaBrava's face.
His jowly mug dissolved into scarlet ruin.
Teeth and bone exploded. One eyeball erupted from its socket and flew skyward.
The ravaged Mafioso lurched and toppled backward. He crashed onto the gravel with arms spread wide.
His fingers pulled into stiff claws. His head tilted and he stared up at me with a single blind eye.
Dead men told no tales. Right.
LaBrava was useless to me now.
I grimaced.
Damn. Another hard fail.
I had to get moving before reinforcements arrived. I leaped from the balcony and soared through the air.
I was aiming for the Escalade's hood. And connecting.
My boots hit sheet metal with a percussive bang. I bent my knee
s on impact and rolled off the hood.
I landed upright and dropped into a combat crouch. I clenched my teeth against the coppery taste of raw adrenaline.
There was zero time for hesitation. I dodged sideways and grabbed a fallen CZ subgun.
I stowed the Nightstalkers in their MOLLE pouch. I could move faster without bulky goggles hanging off my face.
From here I would rely on my panther vision.
I scanned my flanks for immediate danger and found none. But I was far from safe.
An icy shiver told me there were more hostiles on the prowl. I shoved upright and sprinted down the mansion's driveway.
I was heading toward the outer wall and seeking rapid escape. I never made it.
LED headlights flared and an auto engine roared.
An enemy SUV was rolling toward me along the driveway. It was another black Escalade.
I shifted behind a sycamore and faced my danger. I snapped the CZ against my shoulder.
The Escalade angled closer.
Its driver was searching. But he was peering in the wrong direction.
It was a serious error. A fatal mistake.
I leaned around the sycamore and aimed at the tank's windshield.
The enemy wheelman saw me and veered left. Too late.
I hit the CZ's trigger and loosed a blazing salvo. That emptied the subgun's thirty-shot magazine.
A storm of bullets punched through the Escalade's windshield. Auto glass spidered and blew in glittering safety pebbles.
The driver screamed. He went slack and dropped from sight.
The unguided SUV slewed and rammed a stone lion. Its grille split with a shriek of ruptured metal.
Its LEDs flickered and went dark.
I ditched the spent CZ. I grasped my Uzi and swept it into action.
The Escalade's front passenger door flung open.
A bloody figure stumbled out and gripped a Glock autopistol. His face was taught and masked with sweat.
He gasped for air and took a few wobbly steps. He swung the Glock in search of a target he would never find.
I aimed the Uzi and triggered a short burst.
Scimitar bullets drilled the man and he tumbled backward. As he fell the Glock exploded.
A slug struck the stone lion and ricocheted toward the moon.
I pulled the Uzi's suppressor and stowed it. That way the subgun handled lighter and faster.
There was another flash of LEDs.
It was another Escalade. It was surging toward me from the opposite end of the driveway.
I cursed and stayed immobile behind my cover.