Po got out with his briefcase and headed for the entrance.
Captain Sing locked the door of the car and hurried to catch up to his boss. Po paused at the door and turned to Sing, who had come up behind him. "Come with me to my room and I'll give you the cellular phone. I want you to call Brigadier Tan from out here while you're waiting for Stephen."
As soon as both men had walked in the door Stephen stepped out, keeping his gun hand hidden in his jacket, and followed them inside. Stopping beside a Pepsi machine, he waited and watched as the two men walked toward Po's room. Once they had unlocked the door and stepped inside, he moved.
Po unlocked the briefcase he had placed on the table and handed Sing the phone. "Get Bwin and-"
A knock at the door interrupted him. "That's him now.
You two know what's to be done." The captain opened the door and a bullet struck him two inches below his navel. He doubled over, let out a gasp of air, and fell. Stephen shoved him back and slammed the door while Po stared at the black pistol, stammering, "No, Stephen. No!"
Stephen kicked Sing in the chin, lifted his head, and jammed the silencer into his open mouth. He pulled the trigger before facing Po, who had turned and run toward the hall door. Stephen raised the pistol and shot him in the back of the leg. He went down face first, grunting. Stephen stepped forward and grabbed Po's jacket collar. Then he dragged him back to the center of the room and threw him down next to Sing's body.
Po brought his hands up and pleaded, "Anything, anything you want. Don't kill me ... don't kill-"
"Where are Mya and my son?" Stephen hissed, seething with hate and frustration. "Tell me or I will blow your toes off first and work up your legs."
"I'm bleeding to death," Po cried, writhing in pain.
Stephen placed the silencer barrel on the colonel's right kneecap. "Where?"
"Dinto. They were all taken to Dinto. Tan ordered it to make sure none of them-"
Stephen picked up the cellular phone from the floor and tossed it to the wounded man. "Call Tan and tell him you will die unless they are released. Do it!"
Gasping in pain, Po fumbled with the phone. His hands were shaking so badly he misdialed three times before finally getting it right. He got through to the duty officer, who passed the call through to Tan's residence.
"Brigadier, this is Colonel Po. .. . No, listen please, Stephen is here. He has killed Sing and-" His eyes opened wider and he shakily handed the phone to Stephen. "He wants to talk to you."
Stephen snatched the phone away and brought it to his ear.
"Tan, he will die unless you-"
Tan snarled, "He means nothing."
Stephen's nostrils flared. He glanced at the briefcase and snapped, "I want my wife and son freed. I have the account numbers, and-"
"Fool, we moved the funds to another bank once the transfer was made. Do you think we would risk Po being stopped and searched by U. S. Customs? You are a fool, Kang, just like your father. I will call our Chinese friends and they will find you. If you go to the authorities, I will personally kill your wife. In fact, it will please me, for there will be one less filthy Shan to worry about. If you have a pistol, put it to your head-it's the only thing that will save her ... from me."
Stephen screamed in rage and threw the phone at Sing's body. It hit the dead officer's skull and bounced toward the door. Spinning, Stephen kicked the device and cried, "God, no! No!"
Seeing his chance, Po reached for the nine-millimeter pistol holstered under Sing's arm. Sobbing, Stephen turned, dropped to one knee, and fired the entire magazine into Po's twisted face.
.
1:15 A. M., Washington, D. C.
Kelly put the shoestring necklace that held his badge over his head before facing his men. They carried their badges in identical fashion for easy identification, and each man had a shotgun in his hands. Kelly pulled out his old snub-nosed .38 and nodded. "Show time. We go in like we planned. Keep each other posted on the radio tac sets. Let's do it."
Within minutes the teams were at their posts. Kelly nodded to the team behind him carrying the door buster. They closed up and Kelly exchanged glances with Sergeant David Nolan, his friend and partner of ten years. He whispered, "Slow and easy, Davy."
They turned the corner in the darkened third-floor tenement hallway and slowly walked forward in their rubber soled shoes until coming to a door marked with a rusted seven. Kelly nodded.
Nolan whispered into the small ball just in front of and below his lips. "We're going in ... five seconds."
Four other teams located inside and outside the building all received the message on their tactical radio headsets and began the countdown.
Four ... three . ..
Kelly flattened himself against the right wall. Nolan was on the left. The door team swung the metal ram back in the ready position.
Two ... one ...
The ram slammed forward, shattering the door. The busting team dropped the device and grabbed the shotguns they'd leaned against the wall as Kelly raced in yelling, "Police, nobody move!" He swung his pistol right toward movement and hollered, "Freeze!" An old Jamaican man sitting in an easy chair in front of a blaring television threw his hands up.
Nolan was in a shooter's crouch beside Kelly but was looking into the kitchen, where two men sat at a small table.
He yelled, "Get your hands where I can see them, now!"
One of the men raised one hand immediately and then brought the other up holding a compact submachine gun that chattered with surprisingly little noise. Nolan fired as he took a bullet in the neck. His one shot went high.
Kelly spun at the sound and was hit in the leg by the burst.
He staggered back a step but fired his snub-nose twice before the second Mac10 burst hit him in the chest, knocking him off his feet and back into the television. The door busters came in blasting with their shotguns, turning the kitchen into splinters, broken glass, and bleeding men.
Despite the shooting and screaming, Kelly could hear only the pathetic sound of Nolan gagging on his own blood.
Kelly tried to move and help his friend but he couldn't-a giant invisible hand was pushing down on his chest harder and harder. Unable to fight the pain any longer, he closed his eyes and gave in to the quiet darkness.
Seattle Stephen washed his hands and looked in the mirror. He hardly recognized the man he saw. Hating the image, he picked up Sing's nine-millimeter and stuck it into the shoulder holster he had taken off the officer's body. He walked into the bedroom and picked up the briefcase holding the dead men's billfolds and other weapons. Ignoring the sickeningly sweet, coppery smell of blood, he strode for the door, placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside knob, and shut it. He walked slowly to his room, where he threw his things into his suitcase and left. Getting into his rental car, he placed the key in the ignition, then lowered his hand and stared out the windshield, realizing he had no place to go. The weight under his arm gave him an option-Tan and Chen's option-to kill himself now. He wanted to fight, but whom?
His enemies and his family were in Burma, twelve thousand miles away. He could not kill himself, for he knew as long as he lived, they would not kill them; his wife and son were their insurance of his silence. Now it was only a question of how to stay alive and somehow get back to Burma. How?
Tan would have called the Triad, who would have contacted their syndicate in Seattle, so they would have people watching for him at the airport. Where could he go? Slowly his eyes lowered to his only hope, the silver bracelet. Joshua.
Chapter 17.
.
4 A. M., North Bend, Washington.
The ringing alarm woke him up. Stephen picked up the battery-operated clock from the dash and turned it off. It was 7 P. M. in Rangoon. In less than ten hours Swei would become his country's leader. He opened the car door, took a few steps into the trees, and relieved himself. After leaving the Holidome he had turned in his rental car at the airport, gone to a different rental company, and rented another
car using the false documentation Po had provided when he first arrived. He had made it only as far as North Bend before he had to pull off at a rest stop to get a few hours of sleep.
Getting back in the car, he turned on the interior lights and looked at his map. The small town of Ephrata was about 250 miles away, just off Interstate 290. It had a commuter airport.
If he stuck with flying into other small airports, always heading east, he could wind up close enough to Washington, D. C. to rent a car and drive to the capital city. He closed his eyes for a moment to think. Tan would send his henchmen back to his house or question his wife about if he knew anybody in the States. Even if Mya didn't tell them about Joshua, all they had to do was look at the picture on his dresser. It showed him and Mya with Josh and Jill on Royal Lake in a sailboat. And there were his letters-Mya had kept them all.
Stephen's eyes teared again as he thought about his wife and the questioning she would have to endure. 'Trembling, and telling himself he had to try, he started the car. The syndicate knew about Joshua by now and would be watching him. He, Stephen, wouldn't be able to call, but if he got to Washington he would make contact somehow. Joshua had written he was living on a boat, so there had to be a way.
Forcing his tears back, Stephen slipped the transmission into Drive and pulled out onto the dark road.
Washington, D. C.
Josh awoke hearing a strange phone ringing. Opening his eyes, he saw an even stranger ceiling and realized he'd slept in Grant's apartment. He had gotten up during the night and moved from the patio chair to her more comfortable couch.
One glance at the VCR's digital clock told him it was almost 5 A. M. "Ah, shit," he mumbled as he headed for the door to make his escape.
"Josh?"
He turned and saw a vision in a short nightgown standing in the opened bedroom door. The light was behind her, so the sheer material was almost transparent, showing off her slender but well-proportioned body. He stammered and quickly averted his eyes. "Yeah, I'm still here, I'm sorry. I must have-"
"Josh, Stef's on the phone. She sounds upset."
"Ah, shit," he mumbled again. He didn't want to talk to his daughter, who must think she'd caught him with more than his hand in the cookie jar. Grant strode over and handed him the phone. Her being so close in the skimpy nightgown woke him instantly. He took a deep breath for strength and tried to sound innocent. "Hi, hon. I went to sleep on the-"
"Dad, Kelly has been shot. Mary called me ten minutes ago after trying to reach you at the boat. He's at University, but I don't know his condition. Mary was too upset to tell me anything."
"I'm leaving now," Josh said quickly and hung up, feeling as if he'd just been hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer.
Grant saw the anguish in his face. "What's wrong?"
Shaking, Josh looked up at the ceiling. He wanted to put his fist through a wall. "My friend Detective Kelly has been shot. Do you have a car here?"
"In the parking lot."
"I'm not sure my Jeep will start. Can you drop me off at University Hospital?"
Grant was already heading for the bedroom. "I'll be ready in two minutes."
Mary Kelly saw him and Grant come into the waiting area.
She ran past the detectives and officers clustered there, fell into his open arms, and buried her head in his chest. "God, I'm glad you're here."
Josh held the small woman close and walked her down the hallway a few steps. "How is he?" he asked, steeling himself for the worst.
She saw his worry and reached up to touch his face. "He's okay, but it was damn close. Nolan is ... Oh Jesus, Josh, I can't believe it." She lowered her head, crying. He hugged her to him again. Over her shoulder he saw Nolan's wife sitting in the waiting room being consoled by Kelly's fellow detectives.
Mary pulled away and quickly dabbed her eyes as if embarrassed. "Who's this? You said you'd wait till I threw his Irish butt out. Introduce me, will you?"
Josh gave Mary a smile, seeing she was trying hard to get it back together. He motioned to Grant, who was two steps behind him. "Mary, meet Glenn Grant, a ..."
Grant stepped up. "I'm his army friend. It's nice to meet you, Mary. Sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, but I'm glad your husband is out of danger."
Mary shook Grant's hand and eyed Josh. "Army friend?
That's a good one. Do you play racquetball, by any chance?
I don't know where else he would meet a lady."
Josh put his arm around Mary again. "You probably want to get out of here, but can I see him?"
"You have to. He's been asking about you. I'll just wait downstairs with Glenn and we'll have coffee. I should stay with Cindy, but-"
Josh shook his head. "She has plenty of people with her.
Go on. I'll be down in a little while and we'll take you home."
Josh walked into the room and immediately felt a wave of relief. Kelly was lying back on the hospital bed cradling a phone to his ear, red-faced as always. He nodded, pointed at the phone, and held up one finger, all the while talking in just above a gravelly whisper.
"... I don't care if they say Freddie ain't gonna talk. Bring him in and scare him. Tell 'im I know about his bad deal that went down on L Street.... Yeah, use it. Just get him in and squeeze him. Freddie knows if anybody knows. Do it." He held the receiver out to Josh. "Hang it up for me, will ya?
They got me wrapped so tight I can hardly move. What ya doin' here? You tryin' to make a move on Mary while I'm down?"
Josh could see the pain in his friend's eyes despite his playful words. They were two of a kind, he thought, Kelly and Mary, trying hard to cover their real feelings with humor.
It might have worked if it hadn't been for their eyes. Josh shrugged. "Naw, Mare said it was a bad time. I'm glad to see ya, buddy. Shiny night, huh?"
Kelly lowered his eyes. "Yeah. Ya heard about Nolan, right? Christ, I just gave his kid a ball glove for a birthday present. He just turned seven, and ..."
Josh looked into Kelly's eyes. "Mary said it was close."
Kelly tried to smile but failed, then motioned to his chest.
"The vest stopped the bullets. Can you believe it? Mary ain't never gonna let me live it down. She buys me the vest a month ago-insurance, she says-and damn if she ain't right.
It worked, Hawk. The impact of the slugs still broke one rib and bruised some others, but the damn thing worked. Ain't that some shit?"
Josh motioned to the bandage on Kelly's leg. "And this?"
"Flesh wound. It's nothing. I'll be able to carry your ass on the courts in no time. Doc says two, maybe three weeks, I'm back at work."
Josh's eyes narrowed. "You went in, didn't you? You led the fuckin' charge."
Kelly waved the accusation away but avoided Josh's stare.
Josh shifted his position so his friend would have to look at him. "I gave your twins their presents six months ago for their birthday. Am I gettin' through that thick Irish skull?
You're a D-two detective-let the others handle the hero shit."
"I don't need this right now."
"Well, you're gonna hear it. If not for Mary and the boys, then for me. I can't win on the courts without you."
Kelly lowered his head. "Okay. Christ, you'd think you were my mother the way ya talk." He slowly lifted his chin.
A single tear was trickling down his cheek. "They were loaded with heavy weapons, Hawk. Poor Nolan didn't have a fuckin' chance. They aren't like the others. They fight to the death and that puts us back where we started-with nothin'. The one Jamoke we busted won't talk. He hasn't said a word since they brought him in, and about an hour ago one of the best defense attorneys in town shows up to take his case. We got nothin' on the hits-shit, we don't even know where to start. The guys been roustin' a few walkers in Chinatown, but the fuckin' ACLU is already screamin'. Give me some ideas. You studied the Chink organizations, and none of my guys have ever been to Hong Kong like you."
Josh pulled up a chair beside the bed. "W
hat are you doing to find the snake's head? You have to find the San, the lord, that's runnin' the action here in the city."
Kelly rolled his eyes. "We're workin' it, shit. We contacted Immigration two weeks ago and got a list of all the Chinks from Hong Kong who got green cards in the last year. The fuckin' printout is thirty pages long, so it's gonna take time.
We need something else to narrow the field of probables."
Josh took Kelly's notepad and pen from the nightstand.
"Bear with me, okay? You've probably already got a profile of what to look for, but here's what I think you're lookin' for.
Forged in Honor (1995) Page 28