Rise of the White Lotus

by H L Stephens

  "You guys need to hurry," I said to Marcus. "Tell Jameson that Meiqiang has suffered severe blunt force trauma to the head and body and needs to be rushed to the hospital. I have wrapped her in the frock so you should be able to track her location."

  "How bad is it?" Marcus asked.

  Marcus knew Jameson had been teaching me a lot about field medicine to help in evaluating situations like this. The words scarcely came out as the sob caught in my throat.

  "I don't know if she is going to make it," I managed to say. "You guys just need to get here fast. I don't think she has a lot of time."

  "What are you going to do?" he asked.

  "Me?" I said. "I'm going hunting."

  I whispered words of love and comfort to Meiqiang as I left her on the floor of that detestable place. I doubted she could hear any of the things I said in her condition. I kissed her forehead, placed her in God's hands, and went seeking vengeance for her. The men who had done this to Meiqiang were still out there, and they weren't finished with their horrible games.

  While I had played the ragdoll in the van, the thugs had mentioned another girl the Brotherhood had taken. I didn't know if they were referring to Dorthia or some other poor Asian girl like Meiqiang. Either way, I had the full intention of raining fire and brimstone down all over their parade. But first, I had to liberate myself from the room I was in.

  Two men guarded the door of my cell and from the intel Marcus had collected, courtesy of my frock cam, another four guards would need eliminating along the way just to break clear of the level I was on. Marcus was working feverishly to hack into their security feed, but he said it was taking longer than he had anticipated.

  "Their system is much more sophisticated than I would have given them credit for," he said. "I am actually a bit impressed. They are running a 32768-bit RSA key encryption system for their network. That is pretty juicy stuff. They must be protecting something extraordinarily special to use something this sophisticated."

  "You can get all hot and bothered about your tech porn later Marcus," I sniped over the com. "Can you crack the system or not?"

  Marcus snorted at me like I was asking him if he knew the answer to 5 down on the easiest crossword puzzle ever.

  "Yes, little miss smarty pants, I can crack it," he said with a huff. "It will take me approximately 3 minutes 39 seconds to finish breaking their encryption. 3 minutes 38 seconds. 37. 36."

  "Alright, I get the point," I said. "Just let me know when you have it. I need to know where I'm going around here. I had a bag over my head on the way in so I am a bit turned around. I have to find the other girl they were talking about in the parking lot before she ends up like Meiqiang. I just hope it isn't too late."

  "I know," Marcus said, a bit more sedately. "I'm working on it."

  "Thanks Marcus," I said. "Sorry I got a little snarky with you. This place is getting to me."

  "No worries Bo Peep," he said, using the code name he had coined for this operation.

  Since I was the one who had to go searching for the 'lost sheep', Marcus thought it was appropriate.

  "I'll get you your intel just as soon as I have hacked the system," Marcus continued. "You focus on getting out of that cell."

  The door to my lovely rusty chamber was like a giant gong. The moment I attempted to open it would be the moment when hell and half the country would come to investigate. The guards outside didn't need to lock the door. With as loud as the door creaked, they would be alerted to any escape attempted before I could manage the first inch of give in my favor.

  What I needed was a little help from the Russian peanut gallery on the outside. If I could get the guards to open the door for me, my problem was solved. If I had the benefit of beating the crap out of them for their efforts, so much the better. The problem was finding the incentive that would get them to open the door.

  Few things could entice a merciless Bratva to budge from his guard duties. Needing to go to the bathroom wouldn't cut it. Neither would feigning injury. They simply would not care. They were already planning on beating the crap out of me anyways. One might entice a member of the Brotherhood with the promise of sexual favors, but my problem with utilizing a tactic of seduction was the infinitesimally small hole that was the view port into the cell. It was too high and too teeny for me to offer a sampling of my feminine wares. Besides, I really wasn't in the mood to carry on a feigned negotiation on what passionate possibilities existed for the men guarding the door just to get them to open it. No, I needed a different plan that didn't involve my physical allure. I needed something more explosive.

  I peeked through the door to see where the guards were. They had moved off a little ways and were chatting with each other, backs to my position. I grabbed one of the smaller Sem-58 patches. I didn't know what Sem-58 would do to a rusty steel door, but I guessed the patch I was holding was roughly the size of the one that churned the concrete up back at the warehouse. The back of my head was still tender where I had been pegged with flying debris.

  The peephole in the cell door was just big enough for me to get my hand through. I peeled the protective polymer cover from one side of the patch, adhering the patch to outer door as far down as I could reach. I then removed the other polymer cover from the patch, exposing the Sem-58 to air. I pulled my arm back inside the cell and ran back to Meiqiang to cover her with my body, just in case the rusty door didn't hold up to Jameson's chemical invention.

  The hybrid explosive didn't give you a reliable count before it went off. It might take a few seconds or a few minutes, depending on the oxidation rate of the surface of the Sem-58 used. Other factors like moisture content, ambient temperature, etc., etc. might also affect when the compound went off. The Sem-58 was taking so long to explode, I was starting to get a cramp. I was beginning to doubt the whole crew-invented gadgetry when the Sem-58 finally went off in a mini explosion. It had the desired effect.

  Not only did mini-bang bring back the two guards who were assigned to watch my cell. It attracted the attention of the other four goons that were guarding the remainder of this level. Just as all six Bratva guards arrived at my door, I heard Marcus' triumphant exclamation that he had broken into the security feed and could see everything.

  "Fabulous," I whispered so the Bratva outside the door couldn't hear me. "Give me just a sec to take care of them."

  I took the largest Sem-58 patch I had on me and removed the protective polymer coating from one side, placed it glossy polymer side down. I then slid it under the door, right into the center of the collected group of Bratva guards. Then I waited. A flurry of discussion peppered the airway which I asked Marcus to translate for me.

  "It is hard to translate it all at once because everyone is talking over one another," Marcus said, "but the gist of it is they are wondering what the yellow dough like stuff is that just came sliding out from under the door. Apparently one of them picked it up. They are all looking at it as we speak."

  I was just about to make a snide comment to Marcus when a loud explosion on the other side of the door convulsed the entire cell. It sounded....gooey. Several weighty thumps were heard, then all was still.

  "Oh, that's gonna leave a stain," I said.

  Suddenly, I felt a sense of dread at the thought of opening the door. I hadn't anticipated my plan working as well as it appeared to have, and I certainly wasn't relishing the idea of witnessing the aftermath of my success.

  "It isn't as bad as you might think, Bo Peep," Marcus said, reading the hesitation in my voice. "But you better get moving. Your last explosion caught the attention of Bratva in other sectors, and they are beginning to move in your direction. If you want to find that other girl, you better go now."

  "What about Meiqiang?" I asked. "I can't leave her here unprotected. They will slaughter her like a newborn fawn."

  I was in the process of assembling my mini-Uzi as we spoke, trying to prepare myself for battle with the men that were about to appear on the scene.

  "Your Triad re
inforcements have arrived," Marcus said. "Their entrance will keep the Bratva pretty busy. Trust me."

  As if emphasizing Marcus' point, a considerable explosion to the west of my location rocked the foundation of the entire plant.

  "Looks like the Triad are here," I said as I regained my balance.

  "And it looks like their entrance is drawing the men away from your location," Marcus said. "A small contingency of men is heading to Meiqiang now. You can safely leave her Bo Peep."

  I gave my friend one final look before heading out into the stale industrial night air. I threw all of my weight against the heavy steel door to open it. The mini-Uzi was strapped to my back so my hands would be free to deal with the impediment to my freedom. I didn't relish the idea of not being weapons-ready, especially since I was not truly certain what was on the other side of my prison cell, but I didn't have much choice under the circumstances.

  Peering through the portal, I counted five bodies littered around the door in various stages of explosive yuck. I could easily pick out the guy who had been holding the Sem-58. He was the one without the arms. The seriousness of each man's disfigurement was based on proximity to the Sem-58 patch. The farther away each guy was, the better he had faired. None of them would be getting an open casket burial, however.

  "Hey Marcus," I called out as I reached for my Ruger LCP pistol, "I thought you said six guys were guarding this place."

  "There were," Marcus said.

  Right at the moment his words filtered into my ear bud, the heavy metal door creaked behind me.

  "Oh crap," I said, just as the world exploded into stars.

  Blood Sport and Dark Deeds

  I am not sure why it is that all mobsters seem destined to develop ham fists for hands once they hit puberty, but I was quickly discovering it was a prerequisite for joining the miscreant's club of the Bratva brotherhood. As the surviving Bratva's meaty mitts made contact with the back of my skull, I rued the day I was ever introduced to appendages of such generous proportions. The fact I was still conscious after such a savage blow remained one for the record books. I considered it a sign that the Almighty was not ready to meet me face to face - at least not yet.

  The strike on the head hammered me off my feet, causing my lovely Ruger pistol to go sprawling across the concrete floor and completely out of reach. I was stunned and stumbling on my hands and knees like a drunkard scrambling for their lost keys. I needed some kind of weapon besides my gun if I was going to survive this encounter. Until I could clear my head, I tried to put as much distance between me and the Russian meat monger, but he would have nothing to do with a long distance fighting relationship. He cleared the distance between us, grabbing hold of the mini-Uzi I had forgotten was strapped to my back and yanking me to my feet.

  A severe blow can do that to you; make you stupid and forgetful, but I was quickly coming back to my senses as I felt the pressure of his body against mine.

  Close quarters fighting was a dangerous business no matter who your opponent was. In this case, the guy I was up against had a good two hundred pounds in his favor. If I let him get any more of an upper hand than he already had, my life on this earth would be forfeit. Considering his height, weight, and hand meatiness, I gave me about eight seconds, tops, once he got me under his control.

  One thing Oz always taught me during our training sessions was never let your opponent get the upper hand, even if they managed to daze you. Most people fought dirty and would look for that moment when a sweet spot was unprotected, walloping it in whatever underhanded way they could. Striking a sweet spot caused the little ring of stars to circle your head like in the cartoons, except in a case like mine, it could get you killed, especially if you couldn't shake off the darned stars before your enemy finished the job.

  I could feel my maneuverability fading fast. I couldn't reach my knives or any of my guns, but I could reach my birthday present from Avery. I had tucked my telescoping tactical baton inside my right sleeve and had wrapped the lanyard around my wrist to make sure it wouldn't fall off if I needed it. In one fluid motion, I grabbed the leading tip of the baton and yanked it from its leathery hiding place. I grasped the rubberized handle and flipped as hard as I could to extend my steel salvation.

  My Bratva attacker had not expected such a maneuver, and I wasted no time in using my sudden advantage, no matter how small or fleeting it was. I swung up across my body and smacked him hard on the left elbow. His grip loosened on me ever so slightly as he cried out in pain from the impact. The looser grip enabled me to shift my weight to the left. I then swung the baton down as hard as I could, cracking him across the right kneecap. I was rewarded with a sickly crunch followed by another yowl from my opponent. I then smacked him across his one hand, breaking several of the small bones in the process. His grip loosened even more, enabling me to use the baton to pry myself from his grasp.

  Blow after blow I rained down upon my Bratva attacker; all the while he continued his futile attempts to reach me once more. The adult male body has an average of 206 bones, give or take a few ossicles and sesamoid bones. I was bound and determined to break as many of those 206 bones as I could, so long as the gorilla kept coming at me.

  The problem with my fighting approach was that the baton was a deterrent with my opponent, like one of those poppy whips the lion trainers use at the circus. The whips are meant to keep a lion in line. They are not meant to protect the lion tamer if the lion gets it in his mind to eat the lion tamer.

  The baton was beginning to fail me because my arm was growing tired from the blows. I might be damaging my opponent, but he had enough brawn and balls to keep coming. With as much as I might have liked this to have a rodeo-like ending where I trussed him up like a holiday turkey, I got the distinct impression my challenger was going to force a more permanent ending to this encounter, and fast.

  When the brute reached into his boot and pulled out an 11 inch combat bowie knife with ugly looking spikes running along the back edge of the blade, I knew I was in trouble. I pulled out my twin F-S fighting knives just at the moment when the Bratva bulldozed straight for my stomach, blade extended.

  Thankfully, he wasn't much of a knife fighter. Without too much effort, I was able to deflect the clumsy jab at my gut so that it landed against my thigh. The striking blow hit one of the mini-Uzi clips and slid off the double-layered leather wrapping just grazing the skin beneath. I managed to dislodge the knife from his hand and kick it across the concrete floor. Unfortunately, the blade was followed by 300 plus pounds of solid granite flesh that crushed the wind from me as it pinned me up against the wall. I nearly lost hold of both of my blades from the impact, and once again saw my little stars return. They began to swirl round my head as my enemy sought to crush the air from my lungs.

  My attacker was reaching for his other boot where a second knife or some other weapon of destruction lay in wait. Not wanting to discover by what means he planned to bring about my end, I came around full force with both my blades, inserting them into his kidney area. I then crisscrossed the blades, severing his spine. He fell like a quarry stone and did not move again.

  As I removed my blades from his flesh, cleaning as much of the blood from them as I could, I felt a sudden twinge inside of me as I looked down at my dead opponent. The emotion was something akin to grief.

  Here was a man who had done his dead-level best to kill me in the most inglorious manner. He was not a good man by anyone's standards, but as I looked down upon his stricken body, I realized at some point in his life, he had been someone's precious little boy. A mother somewhere had held him when had fallen and hurt himself. Perhaps he had even been sung to and rocked to sleep. Whatever the reality of his later life, this man had at one time been innocent before corruption had steered him down the path which led him to this place and this moment.

  Hot tears sprang to my eyes that I scrubbed away with an angry hand. Part of me wept for the innocent boy who was lost, and part of me wept for myself who was lost with h
im. I hated this fallen man for forcing my hand, but guilt is often mixed with anger.

  My feelings of regret or grief or remorse had no place in this theatre of war. The battle I was helping to wage had only just begun, and my laundry list of things to do was still rather long. To lose my way over one fallen demon, regardless of how angelic he might have been at one time in his life, was folly. Other living souls depended upon me now, and it was my duty to find them before this perished creature's fellow minions had their way with them.

  I searched the bodies of the fallen Bratva for any useful weapons I could find. I collected my precious pistol from its hiding place, and sought the only set of stairs that led out of this Godforsaken rat hole.

  I had just crested the last riser and was rounding my first corner when I rammed face first into Jameson and a small platoon of Triad soldiers. It was disconcerting staring down the barrels of such a wide assortment fully automatic weapons held by a group of the angriest, trigger-happy Asians I had ever seen.

  Jameson held up his one free hand and yelled, "Friend, friend, friend. Don't shoot, don't shoot."

  I held my hands up to show I meant them no harm. I did not make a move until I saw their weapons lower, though their eyes remained forever on me, suspicious of my every move.

  I took a risk and said to them in flawless Mandarin, "I am White Lotus, and I have found Meiqiang."

  Whatever Dú jiàn had told these men about the young Chinese girl who had offered herself as bait to save her granddaughter, the Triad men recognized me by that name. All suspicion left their face, and they spread out to form a protective barrier around Jameson and me so that we could speak in safety. I told him where to find Meiqiang and warned him what he would see when he got to the cell door.

  "It won't be pretty I am afraid," I said in a low voice. "Six men are dead, but I swear, they all deserved it." I gave a halfhearted smile, but Jameson could tell I was shaken. He placed his hand on my shoulder.