Weep, Moscow, Weep

by Gar Wilson

  Although Tosha Khan's dreams of conquest were unrealistic, the Mongol was not stupid. He realized that nothing could be accomplished without hard work and discipline, and he also knew that power consisted of more than mere wealth. While most people mistakenly saw money as the root of all power, Tosha Khan understood that real power was found in people. The man who influences and controls the most people has the most power. The path to that influence and control lay in connections.

  Every successful politician and world leader had under- ! stood this fact. Presidents and prime ministers formed symbiotic relationships with the heads of major corporations, business tycoons, union leaders and the chairmen of international banking conglomerates. Tyrants and terrorists might casually butcher women and children, but they seldom harmed television newsmen who provided them with the opportunity to reach a wider audience. Any audience. In turn, television networks presented any news story — right wing, left wing or simply insane — if it attracted more viewers.

  Tosha Khan had helped create TRIO because it increased his power over others. It was a consortium of crime. His partners — Wang Tse-tu, the head of the Black Serpent Tong, and Shimo Goro, the chief of the Snake Clan yakuza, a Chinese and a Japanese — were traditional enemies and former rivals in the shadowy world of crime. And both had been competing with Tosha Khan's New Horde. However, the three mighty Asian crime networks had formed a merger for their own mutual gain.

  None of the three heads of TRIO cared much for the other two. Yet their combined forces gave them more influence and power than they could have hoped to achieve separately. Tosha Khan was willing to continue the partnership as long as it suited his needs, but he fully intended to seize control of the entire organization.

  Tosha Khan had named his son "Temujin" because this had been the original name of Genghis Khan himself. Temujin shared his father's ambitions and lust for power. He too believed that dominating nations, if not the entire planet, was his destiny. The son of Tosha Khan had been mamed Temujin in hope that one day he too would become "Genghis" — "Precious Warrior Lord."

  As Temujin watched the figures move about near the charred carcass of the Soviet VL-800 installation, he considered a plan of action. Temujin was his father's eyes and ears in his native land. His father had told him to command the New Horde in Mongolia. The young man had been told to supervise the surveillance of the burnt installation and to gather intelligence about the Russians' activities. Temujin had not been ordered to take any direct action against the enemy.

  However, Tosha Khan had not anticipated the special devil team. Temujin could not be certain that these masked strangers were the same warriors who had caused TRIO so much grief in the past, but their presence at the installation suggested they might be. They must be important, he reasoned, and separate from the Russian pigs who accompanied them.

  How did one deal with an enemy? Temujin knew the answer. In the year 1219, several Mongol traders and merchants had been murdered in the Khoresm, a huge Turkish empire that had once included Iraq and Iran. Genghis Khan had responded to this outrage by launching his armies into battle. They had massacred the Khoresm forces and had charged across Turkestan to seize control of the empire.

  If Temujin was to be truly worthy of his honored name, could he allow a handful of opponents to escape unscathed? The young Mongol leader had not brought an army to the cedar forest at the base of the mountain, where he observed the enemy from a densely camouflaged position. Yumjaagiyin and two other New Horde members were his only companions. Since they were disguised as common peasants, the group had not armed themselves with automatic weapons. To attack the enemy would be suicide, but there was another way that might allow Temujin to report the incident to his father and claim blood vengeance as well.

  "Go to the radio," Temujin told Yumjaagiyin. "Contact Balor and tell him to get his band of cutthroats together. We will pay well for their services."

  * * *

  The Zim driven by Captain Tsedenbal and the ZIL-150 truck driven by Dzhambin headed north, back to Ulan Bator. Phoenix Force, John Trent and their three Soviet companions rode in the vehicles as before. Major Alekseyev and Boris Abakumov were still questioning Katz about TRIO. Professor Sudoplatov wisely decided to let them discuss the matter without getting involved in the conversation.

  "A giant secret Asian crime syndicate," Abakumov scoffed. "It is absurd. Who is the leader, Gray? Is his name Fu Manchu?"

  "Have you ever heard of the Triad?" Katz inquired. "Or don't they bother to teach you fellows that sort of trivial stuff when you're training for the KGB?"

  "I've heard of the Triad," Alekseyev stated. "It's a Chinese criminal outfit. They're supposed to be involved in the opium trade in the Golden Triangle. They're probably involved in white slavery operations in Taiwan. Similar to the Mafia in your country."

  "We have the Triad in my country," Katz told him. "Probably in your country, too, and almost every place else. The Triad isn't just operating in the Far East, Major. The organization is global and has been for a long time. Triad operations have occurred in Holland, England, Australia, Canada, West Germany, the United States... the list goes on. The Triad is probably connected to seventy-five percent of the heroin traffic in the entire world."

  "Then why don't more people know about it?" Abakumov asked. "Everyone has heard of the Mafia, but Triad certainly isn't a familiar term to most people."

  "No, it isn't," Katz admitted. "I don't really know why. Interpol has been trying to alert police forces throughout Europe and America about the Triad since 1965, but nobody seems to listen. A lot of top police officials refuse to admit the Triad even exists. Others say the Triad is only a bunch of teenage thugs in gangs. Maybe most people still think of the Chinese tong as a bunch of opium addicts running around with hatchets. But the Triad is real. So is TRIO."

  "You say this TRIO combines Chinese, Japanese and Mongolians?" Alekseyev shook his head. "I thought they didn't get along with each other."

  "Neither do the British and the French," Katz replied. "But they joined forces to fight the Nazis during the Second World War. The Black Serpent Tong and the Snake Clan yakuza..."

  "Japanese gangsters, right?" Abakumov snorted. "And these yakuza carry samurai swords, and when they make a mistake they have to cut off a finger..."

  "You wouldn't find the yakuza amusing if you'd gone a few rounds with them," the Phoenix Force commander told him.

  "But I don't understand why..." Alekseyev began.

  His sentence ended suddenly when he saw a line of two dozen figures mounted on horseback block the path of the Zim. The horsemen had simply appeared at the horizon, dark shapes set against the dark blue-gray twilight sky. Hooves hammered the hard dry ground of the Gobi as the horsemen charged straight for the vehicles.

  "They don't play night polo in the fuckin' desert here, do they?" Calvin James remarked as he drew his .45 Colt.

  "Looks like a good old-fashioned ambush to me," McCarter replied as he grabbed his briefcase.

  The men in the back of the ZIL-150 truck had seen the riders a moment before Alekseyev had spotted the horsemen. Manning had already yanked open his duffel bag and had removed an FAL assault rifle with a folding stock. The Canadian shoved an extended forty-round magazine into the well and chambered the first cartridge. Encizo also managed to draw his Heckler and Koch MP-5 machine pistol from another duffel bag. Trent pulled a .45 caliber Colt Commander from shoulder leather. His left hand tugged the silk case from the long lollipop-shaped object that jutted from the mouth of his bag.

  The American ninja seized the sharkskin-and-silk-covered handle of his sword and pulled the blade from its black scabbard. His ninja-do had a thirty-inch long straight steel blade unlike the samurai sword, which had a curved blade. Samurai swords were noted for ornate handguards that collectors cherished as works of art. Trent's sword, with its large, square black handguard, was not meant for display on the wall of his den. Everything about it, from the razor tip of the blade to the steel-capp
ed pommel, was designed for only one purpose — combat.

  Captain Tsedenbal brought the Zim to a halt. Dzhambin followed his example and stomped on the truck's brakes. Phoenix Force leaped from the vehicles, aware that the car and truck could easily become coffins if the advancing horsemen were to blast them. Alekseyev and Abakumov were a bit slower to react. Tsedenbal reached under the front seat of the Zim to remove a Stechin machine pistol from a hidden compartment. Professor Sudoplatov stayed in the back seat, kept his head down and prayed for survival. An atheist and a devout Communist since age twelve, Sudoplatov had little experience with prayer, but he was doing a remarkably thorough job of it under the circumstances.

  Several rifle shots snarled from the advancing horsemen. Orange flames streaked through the night. Bullets whined against metal and ricocheted from the steel frames of the Zim and the ZIL-150. Any thoughts that the horsemen might be harmless nomads were now eliminated.

  Tsedenbal and Abakumov returned fire. The Mongol Captain's Stechkin blazed a dramatic burst of rapid fire as he triggered a long volley on full-auto. Abakumov's Makarov was less impressive to watch, but just as effective as Tsedenbal's machine pistol... that is, not at all. The enemy was not within handgun range.

  The others held their fire and waited. Manning unfolded the stock to his FAL. It locked in place, and the Canadian raised the butt stock to his shoulder as he aimed around the rear of the truck. The front sight bisected the upper torso of a horseman. Manning squeezed the trigger. A 7.62 mm slug smashed into the attacker and sent him tumbling from the back of his mount.

  Enemy bullets sizzled through the air near the defenders. Some rounds sang on metal when they struck the vehicles. Other slugs kicked clouds of dirt from the ground. Most of the bullets did not come within a foot of hitting any of the members of Phoenix Force or their allies. The attackers were firing at full gallop and had no chance for accuracy.

  Katz heard Abakumov mutter something about "stupid Mongol apes." The Phoenix Force commander had formed no conclusions about the attackers. First rule of combat: never underestimate the enemy. The horsemen appeared to be armed with a variety of weapons: a few Kalashnikovs, but mostly old semiautomatic Tokarev rifles and Simonov semiauto carbines — Soviet army surplus weapons, leftovers from the Second World War.

  The horses and outdated firearms suggested that the attackers were bandits. Katz frowned. A gang of nomadic hill bandits would not attack a Russian Zim and a truck large enough to carry a company of soldiers unless they had a very strong motive. Men accustomed to fighting on horseback would realize they could not accurately fire rifles at a gallop. The bandits were only interested in keeping them pinned down long enough to move in for the kill.

  Manning switched his FAL to full-auto and opened fire. A three-round burst struck a bandit in the chest. A pyramid-shaped wound appeared, and the impact knocked the man out of the saddle. The Canadian marksman quickly shifted his aim to another bandit and blasted the Mongol aggressor with a trio of 7.62 mm messengers. The third bandit hit the ground, blood spurting from his bullet-torn neck.

  The bandits closed in fast. Soon they were within accurate pistol range. Major Alekseyev held his Makarov in both hands, aimed and fired. A bandit screamed when a 9 mm round punched through his breastbone, dropping his Tokarev and slipping from the saddle. His foot was trapped in a stirrup. The horse galloped past the Zim and the truck, dragging its wounded master across the merciless hard ground.

  David McCarter and Rafael Encizo appeared from the rear of the truck. They hit the bandits from both sides of the vehicle. The Ingram M-10 and H&K MP-5 sprayed more than a dozen rounds. High-velocity 9 mm parabellums chopped into flesh. Four bandits convulsed on their mounts. An unfortunate horse raised its head at the wrong moment and took a bullet between the eyes. The beast died instantly and toppled to the ground, throwing off its startled rider. More bandits fell, their bodies ravaged by Phoenix Force fire.

  Captain Tsedenbal used an open car door for cover as he fired his Stechin at the attackers. The Mongol had exhausted an entire twenty-round magazine and had yet to bring down a single opponent. Tsedenbal had never been in a firefight before, and he had never really expected to be in one. After all, Mongolia had not been involved in a conflict since the Communists had taken over in 1921. If the Chinese invaded, the Russians would assume most of the responsibility of driving them back. Mongolia's armed forces consisted of fewer than fifty thousand troops and airmen. The Mongolian air force had only fifty-three aircraft. The Soviets would not expect them to repel the Chinese, so the Mongols would simply let the Russians protect them.

  Tsedenbal had never considered that a bunch of damn bandits might attack an official government car and a military truck. His hands shook as he fed a fresh magazine into the butt of the Stechin. This should not be happening, he thought sourly. Bandits were supposed to prey on peasants and farmers. That was part of the natural balance of the universe.

  Then Tsedenbal's universe came to an abrupt end. A 7.62 mm round pierced the window of the car door and struck Tsedenbal in the forehead. The bullet split his skull, sliced through his brain and burst open the back of his head. The Mongol officer fell against the frame of the Zim and slumped lifeless to the ground.

  Figures appeared behind the charging horsemen — more bandits on foot. The enemy was launching a combination cavalry and infantry attack, a battle plan that had not been used in major warfare since the American Civil War. However, the bandits used the tactic well. While the defenders were concentrating on the horsemen, the infantry caught the two KGB agents off guard. Phoenix Force, veterans of a thousand battlefields, had expected the enemy to have a backup team.

  Katz saw a bandit yank at something in his fist. A hand grenade, the Israeli realized. As the bandit raised his arm to throw the grenade, Katz snap-aimed his SIG Sauer P-226 and squeezed off two shots. Both 9 mm rounds drilled into the bandit's rib cage, splintering bone and piercing a lung. The Mongol dropped the grenade and fell back, clutching his wounded side. Two bandits desperately dashed for the fallen grenade in an effort to pick it up and throw the explosive egg at the Phoenix Force group.

  It was a bad outfield play. The bandits bumped into one another. Their hands awkwardly groped for the grenade. Fingers clawed dirt near the blaster. At last, one man closed a fist around the grenade — a split second before it exploded. The blast tore him apart, killed his partner and finished off the wounded bandit. Horses rose on their hind legs. The animals were accustomed to gunfire, but the explosion was more than they had been trained to ignore. Riders were thrown from their mounts. Animals and men bolted in panic, running in all directions.

  Some ran straight for the Zim and ZIL-150 truck. Calvin James aimed his Colt Commander and fired two rounds into the nearest opponent. The force of the big 185-grain hollowpoint slugs lifted the guy off his feet and pitched him to the ground. Rafael Encizo nailed another bandit with a three-round burst from his H&K machine pistol. The Mongol twisted in a violent spin and fell on his face. Gary Manning fired his FAL and pumped three high-velocity hornets into the face of a third bandit. Most of the man's head vanished in a spray of blood, brains and skull fragments.

  Two bandits simultaneously hurled grenades at the Zim. Katz bolted from the car and dived under the ZIL-150 for cover. Major Alekseyev followed his example. Boris Abakumov tried to do likewise, but the KGB agent was too slow. A sharp-eyed bandit gunman saw Abakumov run for the truck. The Mongol outlaw trained his Simonov carbine on the fleeing figure and shot Abakumov in the back. The KGB man cried out and fell near the rear of the Zim.

  The grenades exploded. The blast blew the big Russian automobile apart. Gasoline ignited, and flames spewed across the cab of the ZIL-150. Burning metal debris crashed to earth. So did the charred and bloodied remains of Boris Abakumov and Professor Sudoplatov. The chemist had never left the interior of the car.

  Dzhambin grabbed a fire extinguisher from the front seat of the truck and sprayed foam on the flames that shrouded the cab. McCart
er and John Trent covered the Mongol while he fought the fire. The British ace and the American ninja blasted three bandits before they could gun down Dzhambin. McCarter's M-10 cut two attackers across the torso with a long column of 9 mm rounds. Trent fired a single .45 slug from his Colt pistol. The big Remington semijacketed hollowpoint projectile smashed a bandit under the nose, shattering his upper jaw and driving bone splinters into the man's brain.

  The bandits had already lost half their attack force. Some had exhausted their ammunition. Only three men remained on horseback. Some drew knives or pistols as the battle continued at close quarters. The odds were still in favor of the bandits. Eighteen strong, they outnumbered the defenders by more than two to one.

  But Phoenix Force was used to taking on odds a lot worse than that. Katz remained under the truck as bandits swarmed around the vehicle. He aimed his SIG Sauer upward, between the legs of an attacker. The Israeli squeezed the trigger. A parabellum slug ripped through the bandit's testicles. The man shrieked in agony and collapsed to the ground, legs thrashing wildly as he clawed at his ruined manhood. Massive shock rendered the bandit unconscious.

  Another bandit turned sharply when he heard the report of Katz's pistol. He saw his comrade fall, blood covering his crotch. But the man failed to see Katz until he stared down to find the muzzle of the Israeli's pistol pointed at him. Katz fired the P-226. A 9 mm slug caught the bandit under the jaw. The bullet punched through soft flesh, drilled into the roof of the man's mouth and burrowed into his brain.

  Viktor Alekseyev slid from under the truck and fired his Makarov pistol upward at the closest bandit. The bullet hit the Mongol goon in the solar plexus and burned upward to burst the guy's heart. The bandit fell, and Alekseyev scrambled to stand as another bandit lunged with a knife aimed at the Russian's throat.