The Ethan Galaal Series: Books 1 - 3

by Isaac Hooke

  Ethan eyed the machine-gunners nervously. "Okay. Three point five million euros. It's going to take me a few days to get the money transferred."

  "The opportunity to procure any of my property has passed," Lo Leung said.

  Ethan didn't see any way to salvage the situation. He'd have to hope Bretta had done better. "I'll be on my way, then."

  He turned to go, careful not to meet Jade's eyes. He didn't want to see the disappointment in them.

  "Stay where you are!" Lo Leung said.

  Ethan glanced questioningly at the man.

  "You want my woman, Mr. Wellington?" Lo Leung said.

  Ethan nodded cautiously.

  Lo Leung smiled. "Would you care to bet for her?"

  "What kind of bet?"

  "A simple wager," Lo Leung said. He nodded at a nearby attendant, who departed. "In ancient times, my ancestors were kings of archery. A Mongolian cataphract could fire an arrow from his composite bow on horseback and hit a mark from three hundred meters."

  The attendant returned, carrying two composite bows.

  Lo Leung took one and ran a hand down its frame. "The bow's core is bamboo, with ibex horn on the belly and deer sinew on the front, bound together with animal glue. Together, these materials give the bow the perfect resiliency, and incredible stopping power."

  The attendant gave Ethan the second bow.

  "What's the target?" Ethan casually grabbed the bow by the handle.

  "The woman," Lo Leung said.

  Two more attendants roughly escorted Jade to the room's entrance. She struggled against them as they tied her to shackles situated beside the door. The wall behind her looked like it was made of cork.

  "Five shots," Lo Leung said. "One beneath each armpit. One on either side of her neck. And one under her pussy. Each shot must land within three inches of her body to qualify."

  Ethan gauged the distance between himself and Jade at forty feet. Heroin smoke from nearby alcoves clouded the air, making the shot even more difficult.

  "If I miss, she's dead," Ethan said. "Why would you make such a bet if she's worth so much to you?"

  "Have you never wagered five million dollars at the roulette wheel?" Lo Leung said.

  "No."

  Lo Leung grinned toothily. "Then you haven't really lived. In today's world, we are far too comfortable. There are so few risks. Life is taken for granted. Commonplace. But when you put something extremely valuable on the line, that's when we revert to the raw days of our ancestors, when it was a struggle to survive. That's when we feel alive. Those who participate in the extremes of life understand this. Mountain climbers. Base jumpers. Sky divers. High stake gamblers know this, too. Do you not wish to feel alive, Mr. Wellington?"

  Ethan's eyes dropped to the bow Lo Leung held. "If I'm to make the shots, why do you have a bow, too?"

  Still in his seat, Lo Leung donned a silver ring over his thumb, placed an arrow, and extended the bowstring using a thumb draw. He aimed the arrow at Ethan. "In case you harm my property."

  Lo Leung abruptly spun toward Jade and released the arrow.

  She screamed.

  The tip penetrated an inch beneath her crotch, pinning the fabric of her tiny shorts to the cork wall.

  "See?" Lo Leung said. "Not so difficult. I did your first shot for free."

  The attendant handed Ethan an arrow.

  Ethan stared at Jade. At the pleading in her eyes. It had been quite a long time since he'd practiced archery. There was no way he'd hit the next four marks, not at that range. He probably wouldn't even be able to draw the thick bowstring.

  He offered the bow and arrow to the attendant. "I'm sorry, I can't take you up on your bet."

  "Disappointing," Lo Leung said. "Though I forgot to mention the price of forfeiture: two of your fingers."

  Ethan stared at Lo Leung in disbelief, then turned toward Jade. He raised the composite bow, placed the arrow, and tentatively pulled the bowstring. His muscles shook and corded from the effort but, as suspected, he couldn't draw the damn thing.

  "I can't—"

  Two attendants abruptly restrained him while a third wrenched the bow and arrow from his hands. One of them searched him, confiscating his wallet, sat-phone and smartphone.

  "You have no idea who I am," Ethan said.

  "Oh but I do," Lo Leung retorted. "You are a man who is about to have two fingers less."

  "I can pay—"

  "Secure him!" Lo Leung said.

  Someone set a stool in before him and the two men on either side forced Ethan to his knees. A third attendant roughly grabbed Ethan's right hand and forced it onto the stool. The surface was scratchy and uneven, covered in indentations where some knife or other stabbing implement had penetrated many times in the past.

  The attendant looped a cord around Ethan's wrist.

  "That's it." Lo Leung said, standing up eagerly. Drool trickled down his chin.

  Ethan felt suddenly dizzy, and he wondered if the heroin smoke was getting to him. He defiantly formed a fist.

  "Open your fingers." The Chinese attendant punched his knuckles.

  Ethan flattened his hand.

  The attendant made one loop of the cord and then held it in place, leaning off to the side so that he was well away from the stool. Ethan noticed the man was missing his little and ring fingers. Ethan glanced at the hands of those who held him down, and he realized they too were missing fingers. The sight made Ethan feel even more nauseous.

  Footsteps.

  The suited sumo approached from the outer hall. His forefinger and thumb loosely gripped a knife hilt, and he swung the blade back and forth like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  He stopped beside Ethan and smiled widely.

  "Give me his fingers!" Lo Leung shouted.

  28

  Ethan steeled himself as the sumo tightened his grip and raised the blade.

  Time seemed to slow as the man stretched his chest and shoulders to an extreme degree, forcing the knife high into the air; then he plunged the weapon down, releasing the pent-up potential energy of his muscles.

  Ethan was ready. He leaned his body backward and jerked the cord with all his strength. His shoulders slid free of the two attendants that held him down; as his hamstrings touched his calves, the stool toppled into him, drawing the third attendant—who still gripped the rope—into the path of the falling blade.

  The sumo was already committed: he couldn't change the course of the blade. The knife plunged deep into the attendant's bicep.

  Ethan flexed his quadriceps and returned to a kneeling position. With his free hand he yanked the knife from the screaming attendant and sliced to the right, hamstringing the man standing there. The victim howled and collapsed.

  The remaining guard wrapped Ethan in a bear hug and yanked him to the floor.

  The attacker's grip was strong; Ethan's arms were pinned to his sides, rendering the knife useless. He felt the man's breath on his nape and he slammed his head backwards, striking a mixture of soft and hard tissue. The nose. Ethan repeated the blow three more times. That grip abruptly let up.

  Ethan was seeing stars by that point—hitting the back of your head against someone's face would do that to you—and it took him a moment to free his right hand from the loosened cord.

  He was about to scramble to his feet when the hamstrung man began kicking him from where he lay on the floor, using the boot of his good leg. Ethan hadn't expected an attack from that vector: hamstringing was very painful and caused massive bleeding.

  Ethan dropped the knife and twisted the man's boot hard to the side, eliciting a fresh yelp. Then he mounted the opponent, slammed his forearm into the man's throat, and pressed down until the attacker blacked out.

  Ethan scrambled, somewhat drunkenly, to his feet. He was panting from the exertion. Around him the three men bled out, moaning softly.

  The sumo had stepped back. He seemed afraid. Not of Ethan, but of the injuries his failure h
ad caused.

  Ethan heard clapping from the front of the room.

  "Well done," Lo Leung said. "That was entertaining. It almost makes up for your refusal to accept my archery challenge."

  The two submachine-gunners on either side of Lo Leung had their MP5s pointed straight at Ethan.

  "I have decided I will let you keep your fingers," Lo Leung said.

  "So I can go?" Ethan said, still breathing hard. He was feeling very weak. He wasn't sure he had another fight in him.

  "I said you can keep your fingers, but that doesn't mean I won't take something else. You see—"

  A buzzing came from Lo Leung's person. Puzzled, he delved into his pocket and answered a cellphone. He said a single word of Cantonese and listened to the response. He spoke another phrase and hung up.

  Lo Leung smiled. "Today is your lucky day. Chen Tang would like to meet you."

  Ethan furrowed his brow. "How does he even know about me?"

  Lo Leung beckoned toward the ceiling. There was a dome camera there.

  Lo Leung hauled himself to his feet with the help of yet another attendant and then edged past the mastiffs to make his way toward a steel staircase. "This way."

  Ethan approached the stairs; the two machine-gunners fell in behind him.

  Lo Leung paused to glare at the moaning attendants. "Clean that up!" He shouted at the sumo. "And feed my dogs!" He glanced toward Jade. "Come, my dear."

  A white-robed woman untied her from the wall, where she had been forgotten.

  Jade joined Lo Leung with obvious reluctance, and together the group climbed the metal-grille stairs.

  A waiting guard opened a door at the top.

  Ethan found himself in a smallish room where three round tables seated five or six men each. They played cards—poker from the looks of it. Some of the players smoked cigarettes, filling the air with tobacco fumes.

  Across from the tables various monitors lined the wall, showcasing different parts of the club, including Lo Leung's heroin den. On the east side of the room was a second door, while on the north side a beaded curtain draped a third exit.

  Ethan thought he recognized Chen Tang at the head table; the club manager was seated so that he had a clear view of the monitors. A rather tiny man in his mid-forties, Chen was completely bald, and the only facial hair he had was a pencil mustache. His long, lean face seemed strangely gentle, though the illusion of kindness quickly evaporated when Ethan met those cold, calculating eyes.

  Bretta sat at his side, also participating in the poker game. The promoter was a member of the table, too.

  Bretta was giggling at something Chen had said, but when she spotted Ethan, she became serious, giving him a look of disdain.

  "An impressive show down there, Mr. Wellington," Chen said. "Am I to believe a rich CEO would have fighting skills such as yours?"

  "Maybe I like to spar in my free time."

  Chen smiled coldly. "Let's be honest, Mr. Wellington. You did not come to purchase a slave girl."

  "You're right, I didn't."

  Chen set down his cards. "Then why are you here?"

  "Al Sifr," Ethan answered.

  Chen remained quiet a moment. Then he raised a hand. A man who must have been his personal assistant came over and leaned close.

  Chen whispered something and the assistant quickly nodded before standing to his full height. He shouted something in Cantonese, followed by English: "Guests out! Out!"

  The room began to clear. Some exited via the entrance to the heroin den, others the door to the eastern side.

  Bretta remained seated, perhaps hoping Chen would allow her to stay.

  But the club owner turned to her. "Go!"

  Bretta got to her feet and hurried out the eastern door, shutting it behind her.

  Damn, Ethan thought. Alone without backup again. Careful what you wish for.

  The only remaining Triad members were Chen, his assistant, Lo Leung, and the latter's four-person entourage, which included Jade, another assistant, and the two men with MP5s.

  "Al Sifr sent you?" Chen inquired.

  "I never said that," Ethan told him. "You asked why I was here. Well I'm here because of Al Sifr."

  Chen frowned. "Explain."

  Ethan decided to opt for the truth in that moment. Mostly. "I'm a contractor for the Defense Intelligence Agency. As a contractor, I don't work for them directly, meaning the DIA isn't held accountable for my actions, nor the actions of my fifty-person team. As such, there's nothing to stop me from bringing your whole operation crashing down. Consider this your formal notice: the Chinese authorities you've been bribing to look the other way are about to stop accepting your kickbacks. They'll be making arrests and raids citywide. Your Sun Yee On massage parlors, your heroin dens, your drug dealers, your entire infrastructure, it's all about to go down the drain. But—" Ethan paused for dramatic effect. "If you give me Al Sifr, I'll get them to back down. It'll be business as usual."

  Chen stared at him for a moment, the disbelief obvious on his face. "You expect me to believe the Americans wield any power here? That the Hong Kong police are at your beck and call?" He bore his teeth in a rictus. "The police are mine, fool! The commissioner comes to my club every week. I keep him happy. Girls. Cocaine. Whatever he wants."

  "Fine," Ethan said. "Maybe you're right. Maybe the police will renege on their deal. It doesn't matter, because my fifty-person team will simply start burning down your parlors and dens itself. We have operatives identifying all Sun Yee On holdings at this very moment. And we're going to start with this place."

  "Again, empty threats," Chen said. "If you had successfully destroyed Triad property beforehand, then I might have listened. Long enough to cut you in half, at least. You are a fool to come here and threaten me. Typical American bluster. All talk. No action. Fifty men! I believe you are lying. I believe you are the only one." He turned to Lo Leung. "I will give your men the honor of killing him. After all, I know how much your mastiffs enjoy human meat."

  "Wait—" Ethan began.

  "Kill him," Chen instructed Lo Leung's henchmen.

  The two men raised their MP5s.

  29

  Ethan instinctively lifted his hands to protect himself, but before the men could fire, the eastern door to the room slammed open.

  Bretta stepped inside, Px4 extended out in front of her. She fired twice in rapid succession, slightly adjusting her aim between each shot.

  The two machine-gunners toppled like marionettes whose strings had been cut. Blood oozed from red blooms in their foreheads.

  Bretta focused her aim on Chen next. She stepped toward him like an unstoppable assassin intent on her target. She didn't look at anyone else, not even when the other attendants began to draw concealed pistols, including Lo Leung.

  Ethan started toward the closest man, but froze when the attendant turned his pistol on him.

  A guard hurried inside from the beads draping the northern exit, while another burst through the door to the heroin den. Both men carried raised pistols.

  Bretta ignored them all. She reached Chen and calmly rested the Px4 barrel against his temple.

  "Tell them to drop their weapons, sweety," Bretta said. She spoke loudly, her hearing likely affected by the gunfire—Ethan's own ears were ringing.

  "Drop your pistols," Chen said. When they hesitated, he glanced at them. "Do it!"

  The men deposited their weapons on the floor.

  "You too, fat man," Bretta told Lo Leung, who hadn't complied. Ethan wasn't sure how she knew—she hadn't looked away from Chen the whole time.

  Lo Leung grimaced, then set his own pistol on the floor.

  "Now kick them toward Mr. Wellington there," Bretta said.

  The attendants obeyed. Ethan wasn't worried about the weapons going off, as the triggers were well protected behind the trigger guards.

  Never breaking eye contact with her target, Bretta reached inside Chen's jacket with her free hand and retrieved a concealed pistol from his chest
harness. She slid it on the floor in Ethan's general direction. She searched Chen's jacket a second time and produced a cellphone, which she threw toward Ethan as well.

  Ethan pocketed the phone and grabbed one of the pistols. They were all SIG Sauer P250 DCcs. Designed for concealed carry.

  "Back away," Ethan said, pointing his P250 at the attendants nearest the fallen submachine-gunners.

  Ethan collected the MP5s with his free hand, grabbing the submachine guns by the short straps. He retreated to the pistol stash and set down the P250, then slid an MP5 over his shoulder, leaving the other in his hands to serve as his main weapon.

  "You, give me your holster," Ethan told one of the henchmen.

  The indicated individual removed his inside-the-waistband holster and tossed it to Ethan, who promptly clipped it to his suit pants. He holstered the P250.

  "Everyone except Chen, move here." Ethan beckoned toward the far corner of the room with the MP5. "Stand in a row against the wall. No one shields anyone else."

  When they were in place, Bretta retreated to his side.

  "Lock the doors, Mrs. Wellington," Ethan told her.

  She moved to the exits on either side of the room and engaged the deadbolts. She kept her pistol pointed at Chen the entire while.

  Ethan focused his attention on the club manager. "Now tell me about Al Sifr."

  "Al Sifr?" Chen shrugged. "He comes to my club from time to time. We have a business arrangement. I ship him diamonds, he sends me cash. Weapons. Women."

  Ethan thought of the sex slave cell the police had raided in Moldova. At least no more women would suffer Jade's fate. For a while.

  "We'll need everything you have on him," Ethan said. "The physical addresses where you ship the diamonds to. How you transport the weapons, cash and women. Everything."

  "I'll have to go to my office where I keep the records."

  "Where's your office?" Ethan said.

  Chen glanced toward the beaded curtain that covered the northern exit.

  "Fine, let's go," Ethan said.

  "What about them?" Bretta nodded toward the prisoners. "One of us has to stay."

  Ethan glanced at Jade. "You."

  The woman stepped forward.