by Gar Wilson
The big man fell forward to receive McCarter's knee in his face. The Briton shoved his opponent into the wall again and swung a right cross at the Asian's jaw. The Chinese slumped to the ground, blood oozing from his mouth and nostrils. McCarter hit him again and followed the man to the ground. The Briton raised his fist, but Katz blocked his wrist with the hooks of his prosthesis.
"That's enough," Katz told him. "We don't have time for this."
"He started it," the Briton muttered as he gathered up his Ingram.
The Israeli and McCarter headed for the side door to the main house. Calvin James fired his M-16 at several TRIO hoodlums in the parade field. Two Chinese gunmen collapsed, and the others retreated to the cover of the warehouse.
"No way, fellas," the black warrior growled as he aimed the M-203 grenade launcher and squeezed the trigger.
The 40 mm projectile hurtled into the warehouse and exploded. The building burst apart, and the roof and walls crashed down on the unlucky TRIO henchmen. James jogged to the side door and followed his partners into the main house.
* * *
The other members of the assault force were attacked by a group of TRIO killers at the east wing of the main house. Rafael Encizo and John Trent bolted for cover behind a truck parked near the wall. Gary Manning and the two KGB agents were forced to simply drop to the ground and return fire from a prone position.
Automatic fire sizzled above the Canadian and his Russian companions. Manning aimed and fired his FAL, pumping a 7.62 mm round dead center in the heart of the nearest gunman. Vladimir Savchenko triggered his Sterling submachine gun at the enemy, and Rafael Encizo hit them with a volley of Heckler and Koch missiles from his position at the truck. The deadly cross fire cut down three more TRIO thugs.
Two Asian hoodlums dashed to the truck, seeking shelter on the opposite side of the vehicle from Trent and Encizo. Two other thugs chose to stand their ground and fired at Manning and the two Russians. Bullets raked the ground near the three commandos. Dirt splattered Manning as he triggered the FAL to blast a bullet into the forehead of a TRIO goon.
Savchenko cried out when an enemy bullet struck his left shoulder, shattering bone and cartilege at the joint. Major Viktor Alekseyev fired his Sterling and chopped a column of 9 mm rounds across the kneecaps of a TRIO gunman. The man shrieked and fell forward to receive another burst of Sterling slugs through the top of his skull.
Encizo knelt by the truck and peered beneath it. He saw the legs of the two TRIO thugs on the opposite side of the vehicle. The Cuban poked the barrel of his MP-5 under the truck and squeezed the trigger. Parabellums crashed into the ankles and shins of the Asian triggermen. One TRIO flunky screamed and fell to the ground. Encizo nailed him with three bullets in the chest.
The remaining gunman managed to hop to the rear of the vehicle, his right ankle shattered by a 9 mm round. He leaned against the truck and tried to decide what to do next. The man did not live long enough to make up his mind. John Trent suddenly appeared behind him. The ninja's sword swooped down and sliced the hoodlum's neck from cartoid to windpipe. He tumbled to the ground, blood gushing from his gashed flesh.
Manning and Alekseyev dragged Lieutenant Savchenko to the shelter of the truck. The Canadian ripped open Savchenko's shirt to examine the wound. The depth of the bullet puncture and the bloodied flesh made Manning shudder. Savchenko gasped, his body dripping sweat. Alekseyev took a standard first-aid kit from his belt and placed a field dressing on the wound.
"Oth'ebit'ih!" Savchenko ground out through clenched teeth. "Palzhali'sta, oth'ebit'ih!"
"What's he saying?" Manning asked, checking his own first-aid kit, wishing James was with them.
"He's telling us to leave him," Alekseyev translated.
"Like hell," Manning replied. "If TRIO finds him here, he'll be defenseless."
"I'll stay with him," Alekseyev declared. "The rest of you better go."
"If you have to move him, you'll probably both get killed," Manning told the major. "You think you can hold TRIO off by using this truck for cover? One grenade or a Molotov cocktail will blow this heap to bits."
"Take this," Encizo urged, handing Manning a plastic syringe. "It's morphine."
"Thanks," the Canadian said with a nod. "You and Collins better go. The major and I will look after Vladimir."
"Good luck," the Cuban said as he turned to find that Trent had already left. Encizo shrugged and headed for the rear of the house.
"You don't have to do this," Alekseyev told Manning.
"That's a matter of opinion, Major," the Canadian replied as he injected the morphine into the wounded Russian officer.
21
Rafael Encizo moved along the side of the house toward the rear of the building. He stiffened when he heard movement at the opposite end of the corner. The Cuban held his H&K subgun ready and waited for the enemy to appear.
The sound of something striking a solid object was followed by a soft groan and a startled gasp. A shape fell forward. Encizo stared down at the dead Asian. The shaft of an arrow jutted from the base of his skull.
Think I found Trent, he thought as he stepped around the corner.
Two TRIO henchmen stood at the rear of the house. Their backs were turned to Encizo as they aimed their weapons at the wall surrounding the compound, scanning the area for the archer who had killed their comrade. Encizo stepped behind the closest opponent and slammed the side of his hand at the base of the man's neck. The guy dropped like a stone from a fifth-story window.
The remaining hoodlum started to turn toward Encizo. A blurred missile streaked through the air. The arrow struck the TRIO goon in the neck. The sharp point jutted from one side, and the feathered shaft extended from the other. Blood squirted from both entrance and exit wounds around the arrow. The man dropped his weapon and fell lifeless to the ground.
Trent climbed down from the wall, aluminum bow still in his fist. The American discarded the bow as he jogged toward Encizo. The Cuban noticed a door at the rear of the building. He aimed his MP-5 at the door as Trent approached.
"Is this where they came from?" Encizo asked.
"Yes," Trent confirmed. "I thought it best to take them out silently. They seemed to be exploring the area. Like scouts sent to see about danger."
"So, somebody might get curious," Encizo remarked, moving to the door.
The Cuban and the ninja stood to one side of the door and waited. A few seconds later the door creaked open. Encizo quickly grabbed it and shoved the barrel of his MP-5 through the gap. The muzzle jabbed flesh. A voice grunted, and Encizo squeezed the trigger. Three 9 mm rounds burned into the torso of the unfortunate TRIO flunky at the door.
Encizo shoved the door wide open and jumped back as Trent hurled a metsubushi across the threshold. Flash powder ignited and pepper spewed. Voices cried out and coughed, then uttered choking noises.
The Cuban fired a quick volley of 9 mm rounds through the doorway and charged across the threshold, trampling the corpse of the man who had opened the door. He entered a laboratory with two long tables stacked with glass beakers, racks of test tubes and other equipment Encizo did not recognize. An obese Asian clad in a white lab smock stood near a table with a beaker in his trembling hands. Another figure lay on the floor, his clothes stained by bloodied bullet holes in his chest.
"Drop guns!" the frightened lab technician cried in high-pitched voice. "I have formula here! VL-800! I throw on floor!"
"There's no lid on that beaker, fella," Encizo said, pointing his subgun at the man's face. "I heard VL-800 is lethal when inhaled. I'm calling your bluff, shithead."
The lab tech dropped the flask as he quickly raised his hands in surrender. Trent crossed the room to a closed door, his Colt Commander held ready. Encizo gestured with the barrel of his H&K, urging the lab tech to face a wall.
"Spread-eagle," Encizo ordered, but he realized the Asian did not understand. "Put your hands on the wall and spread your legs. Understand?"
Trent hastily repea
ted the command in Chinese. The lab tech obeyed. Encizo frisked the guy, found no weapons and used a set of riot cuffs to bind the Asian's wrists together at the small of his back. The Cuban poked the muzzle of his MP-5 behind the lab guy's ear.
"You know about the VL-800 formula, so you know why we're here," Encizo declared. "Where is it? I won't ask twice."
"Chou Minchuan take formula," the chemist replied quickly. "He just here with Akira Osato. They take formula. This is very true."
"Where did Chou and Osato go?" Encizo asked.
"That way," the lab man said, jerking his head toward Trent. "Out the door. Somewhere in house."
"How are they carrying the formula?" the Cuban asked urgently.
"In boxes," the Asian replied. "Syau-syang'dz. I do not know the English word..."
"Suitcases," Trent translated. "They're carrying the formula in suitcases."
"Okay, pal," Encizo told the chemist. "If you're lying to us, we'll be back to carve you into fish food. If you're telling the truth, we'll see if we can convince the authorities to go easy on you."
"I tell you very true," the lab man insisted.
"We'll see," the Cuban remarked as he shoved the chemist into a chair. "Just stay put and you'll stay healthy."
Encizo and John Trent opened the door and entered a narrow corridor. Two TRIO thugs, poised in the hall with weapons in hand, turned to face the Phoenix commando and the American ninja. Encizo's MP-5 rattled a violent burst of 9 mm slugs that ripped one hood from breastbone to forehead. The other goon dropped to one knee and raised a Browning automatic. Trent's Colt snarled, and the man's face exploded.
A cluster of fourteen TRIO gangsters had assembled in the main hall. Chou Minchuan and Akira Osato were among the group. Both TRIO subchiefs carried aluminum suitcases; so did their lieutenants. All the tong and yakuza hoodlums held a firearm except Osato, who carried his katana in one fist and a suitcase in the other. The yakuza boss was an exceptional kendo expert, and he valued his samurai sword too highly to leave it behind.
Three more tong gunsels were stationed in the upstairs hallway. The TRIO hoods had been concentrating on the outside of the house. They suddenly realized the assault team had managed to enter the building and swung their weapons toward the mouth of the corridor where Encizo and Trent lurked.
Suddenly Katz, McCarter and James emerged from the kitchen and opened fire on the TRIO congregation. The Israeli and British warriors hosed the gangsters in the main hall with 9 mm hail while Calvin James trained his M-16 on the three hoods upstairs. A hoodlum fell against a banister and toppled over the top to crash to the floor below. Another caught a 5.56 mm slug in the bridge of the nose and fell dead in the upstairs hall. The third member of the upstairs reception committee managed to retreat into a bedroom, dragging a bullet-gouged leg.
The gangsters in the main hall did not fare any better. Parabellum projectiles knifed through their torsos and blasted skulls open. Encizo and Trent contributed to the firepower, trapping the enemy in a murderous cross fire. The Cuban drew his 9 mm Model 59 pistol to shoot at the men carrying the suitcases, fearful that the indiscriminate fury of a full-auto weapon might punch rounds through the aluminum containers and release the VL-800 formula.
Chou Minchuan's lieutenant fell against his boss, the side of his head blasted away. The tong subchief cried out in terror when his pet goon's brains splashed across his face. The Chinese gangster dropped his suitcase, grabbed the knob to the front door and yanked it open. Chou bolted outside, followed by two other Black Serpent Tong followers.
Trent pumped a .45 slug into the center of Osato's top henchman's chest. The Japanese thug released his pistol and clutched the suitcase to his breast as if hoping to shield himself from more bullets. As he fell to his knees, the yakuza realized it was already too late. He felt his life rapidly slide from his body. The hoodlum bowed his head and died.
Akira Osato dropped to one knee and fumbled with the combination lock to his suitcase. As bullets continued to scream all around him and his comrades shrieked and fell, the yakuza leader could not remember the code. He had it written on a notepad in the pocket of his kimono. But there wasn't time for that, Osato thought as he pulled his Nambu pistol from shoulder leather. A single 9 mm round through the metal skin of the suitcase would release the formula just as quickly.
The corpse of a TRIO hoodlum toppled into Osato. The impact knocked him to the floor. The suitcase slid away, and the Nambu slipped from his fingers. Osato clutched the scabbard of his samurai sword and sat up.
The shooting had ceased. The bodies of TRIO hoodlums were sprawled across the hall. Katz, McCarter and James advanced from one side of the room while Encizo and Trent approached from the other. Osato slowly rose, holding his head high, determined to die with dignity.
"Put down the sword," Katz ordered. "It's over."
Osato ignored him. The yakuza's attention was fixed on John Trent. The American ninja sighed and handed his Colt Commander to Rafael Encizo. The Cuban shook his head.
"Come on, John," Encizo muttered, but he took the pistol. "You don't have to do it."
"Look at him," Trent replied. "You know what he wants as well as I do."
"You don't have to give it to him," the Cuban stated.
"Anata-wa ninja desuka?" Osato inquired, glaring at Trent.
"Hai," he replied in Japanese. "Yes, I am ninja."
"If you are ninja," Osato said as he smiled, resting his hand on the hilt of his katana, "come prove it. I ask you to honor me with battle, so I may die as a samurai."
"I accept," Trent replied with a nod. "Ninja enjoy killing samurai."
Osato's features hardened. He drew the long, curved blade from its scabbard and grasped the hilt in both fists. The yakuza raised the sword overhead and poised the handle at the top of his skull. Trent's right hand rested on the hilt of his ninja-do, but he did not draw his sword.
"Calvin," Katz turned to James and McCarter. "Three TRIO bolted out the door. Make sure they don't get away."
"Right," James said with a nod. "Uh... you sure one of us shouldn't shoot the dude with the sword?"
"Trent agreed to fight him," the Israeli replied. "It's his business. John can probably take him, and if he can't, we'll intervene."
"Okay," James agreed with a shrug. He headed for the kitchen to use the side door.
"David, Rafael," Katz continued. "Don't pay too much attention to the sword fight. Some of these bastards might be playing possum. I'm going upstairs to check the rooms. Either of you two want to come with me?"
"I'm coming," McCarter replied.
The Israeli and the Briton jogged up the stairs. Trent and Osato hardly noticed. The yakuza was still poised in his aggressive fighting stance, waiting for Trent to draw his sword. The ninja seemed calm as he waited for his opponent to make the first move.
Encizo tried to pay more attention to the surrounding TRIO bodies — none of whom appeared to be alive — than to the duel, but the tension was gnawing at the Cuban's gut. He watched Osato shuffle forward, moving in small, quick steps. Trent shuffled backward, keeping the distance between them roughly eight feet.
Osato jerked his elbows as if to deliver a sword stroke, trying to startle Trent into drawing his weapon. The yakuza realized his opponent was trying to lure him into a trap of some sort and that he was trying to bait Trent into revealing his strategy. The ninja, however, refused to oblige.
"Come, ninja," Osato hissed, clearly annoyed. "Come and fight, you coward."
Trent did not reply. He moved backward and stepped over a corpse. Osato decided his opponent would be off-balance for a split second and decided to attack. He shouted a kiai and charged, slashing the katana at Trent's head.
The ninja's sword bolted from the scabbard in a fast, rising stroke. Steel sang against steel as Trent's blade blocked the katana. He held the ninja-do in his right hand, but stepped to the side with his left foot to keep his distance from the yakuza's blade. His left hand suddenly moved from the small of his
back and lashed out with the manrikigusari.
The chain struck Osato. A weighted end whirled around the yakuza's limbs, wrapping steel links around the man's wrists, pinning them to the hilt of his own katana. Osato tried to pull away, but Trent's sword struck like razor-sharp lightning. The edge of his ninja-do sliced Osato across the throat. Trent's body moved with the cut. He released the manrikigusariy pivoted and grabbed the handle of his sword with both hands. He completed the turn to face Osato, his ninja-do raised.
Trent struck again. The sword split Osato's face open from the crown of his head to his jawbone. The yakuza fell to the floor, crimson jetting from the terrible, deep wounds. His body twitched slightly and lay still.
"Cristo," Encizo whispered. He looked away from the ghastly corpse. "Hey, John? Is it considered fair play to use another weapon during a Japanese sword duel?"
"He wanted to fight a ninja," Trent replied as he snapped his wrist to flick blood from the blade of his sword. "That is how ninja fight."
Katz and McCarter searched the rooms upstairs. They found the man James had shot in the leg. The hood had passed out on a bedroom floor. McCarter knelt by the unconscious thug and cuffed his hands behind his back. Katz watched the doorway while his partner secured the bonds.
"Yaaiii!" Temujin screamed, charging from the hallway with a pistol in his fist.
The Mongol had waited in his quarters, aware the battle was already lost when the raid had reached its zenith. He realized that trying to find the formula would be a waste of time. Chou and Osato would already have it. He knew they would blame him for the failure of the mission and probably shoot him on sight. So Temujin had waited for the opportunity to extract his own private revenge.
There was a major problem with his plan. Temujin ran straight for Yakov Katzenelenbogen, who already had an Uzi held ready. The Israeli triggered his weapon. The last two rounds from the magazine blasted Temujin in the upper chest. The impact spun the Mongol around. His pistol fell, but Temujin immediately reached for his combat dagger.