Josh patted the oversize pistol that was holstered on his hip. "Yeah, we fired a dozen darts apiece this afternoon. I just hope they work."
Detective Howie Youngblood smiled cruelly. "They work, all right. Assholes'll go down like they were hit in the head with two-by-fours. You'll be using the full-load darts.
Twenty-four hundred volts in each dart guarantee they stay down for at least fifteen minutes. All they'll be able to do is shit their pants and piss all over themselves."
Kelly nodded in agreement. "They'll do the job, Hawk.
You and Stephen remember to aim for the stomach or back.
Don't hit 'em in the chest or it could be fatal. All right, any questions before we make our first visit?"
Josh, Stephen, and Youngblood were silent. Kelly nodded.
"Let's do it."
Michael Woo was sitting on the couch with his wife watching "Saturday Night Live" when the phone rang. They exchanged glances, each hoping the other would volunteer.
His wife yawned for effect, and he reluctantly got up. "Next time, you get it." Her eyes said maybe.
He walked into the kitchen and took the handset from the wall extension. "Woo residence." His eyes widened when he realized the excited man on the line was speaking Cantonese.
It took a moment for his brain to engage, but it was clear he wouldn't be watching any more TV that night. "Yes, of course, I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he said. He hung up the phone and hurried upstairs to get his car keys from his other slacks. Hearing his heavy footsteps, his wife yelled, "What's wrong, honey?" Not getting a response, she got up and walked into the hall just as he was coming down the stairs. "What's the matter?"
Woo's face was drawn with concern. "There's a fire at the office," he said as he brushed by her and headed for the door leading to the garage.
Parked one block from the house, Stephen handed the cellular phone back to Kelly. "He bought it. He's coming."
Woo backed his green Jaguar out of the drive, slapped the gearshift into first, and accelerated. He was about to shift into second when he had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting a dark van that suddenly pulled out in front of him and blocked the road. No sooner had he stopped than his door was jerked open and he was staring into a pistol barrel.
"Hello, Mike," Kelly said amiably. He waved the weapon, motioning for the lawyer to get out of the car.
Woo's initial shock turned into indignation. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Kelly? You can't ..." His eyes widened when a dark figure approached wearing a black hood with eye and mouth slits. The man pressed his Beretta into Woo's left cheek. "Get the fuck out now or I blow your head off!" Josh commanded.
Trembling, Woo got out and let himself be pushed toward the open side door of the van. Youngblood was waiting and shoved him inside. Stephen moved the van back to the curb and Kelly and Josh got in after parking Woo's car. Kelly sat down beside Woo and shook his head. "I'm disappointed in you, Mike. We had some good times together when you were with the D. A. You shoulda stayed clean."
"Kelly, you'll burn! You can't roust me like this."
Josh took off his black hood. "Hi, Mike. Remember me?
When I worked for the MPD, you took me and Kelly to a Capitals game. They lost."
Woo suddenly felt the need to vomit. Josh motioned over his shoulder. "Meet Stephen Kang. He tells us your boss Dorba is very connected. I guess that makes you a slicky boy, huh?" Getting the effect he wanted, Josh nodded to Kelly, who sighed and clapped his hand on Woo's shoulder.
"Mike, you're in big-time trouble, my man." He raised his wrist and tapped the crystal of his watch. "The FBI and DEA are making big busts just about now in the three states.
You'll appreciate this, having been an assistant D. A. It seems they got a tip about three big heroin distribution warehouses.
Funny how that shit happens. Let's take the one in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. The Feds ran a computer check to see what trucking firms and warehouses had been sold in the past year.
Guess what? There were only three. And guess what else?
The IRS did a check on them and only one wasn't privately owned. You know what, Mike? It seems it was owned by a company that was owned by another company that was a subsidiary of a corporation, and the list goes on. Ahhh I'm boring you, right? You want me to get to the good stuff, right? Well, Mike, my man, the bottom line is you're gonna lose all your hero. Too bad."
"I ... I don't know what you're talking about," Woo stammered, knowing Kelly was right. He was in big-time trouble.
Kelly sighed. "Mike, look at me. Look at me! That's better. You fucked up, my man. I think you are personally responsible for killing four hundred people, and I'm going to kill you, Mike, unless you cooperate. Look at me, don't lower your eyes when I'm talkin' to you. I'm gonna kill you because you went after my wife and family. I honestly hope to God you decide not to cooperate. I want to kill you, but so do some of my guys. You remember Hector Alvarez and Chick Cummings? You should-your boss had their families hit. They want a piece of you too ... real bad. We figure we'll take our time-a kneecap, a wrist, a gut shot-watch you squirm and beg. Tell me, Mike. Please tell me that you don't wanna cooperate."
Woo felt it coming and couldn't stop it. He vomited, gagged, and threw up again.
Dressed in black, Chick Cummings walked across the flat roof of the five-floor tenement building, keeping his eyes on the glass office building across H Street. He kneeled by the brick retaining wall and unzipped his bag. When he took out the M-79 grenade launcher, his hands stopped trembling. The short, single-shot weapon was an old friend. He had carried one just like it in Vietnam. Just touching it reminded him of those days when he was young and airborne crazy. He had never told a soul, but he loved those times. His wife and girls had given him better memories, so he'd stored Vietnam in an old footlocker in his mind. But his wife was gone, and so were Carol and Kathy. He wouldn't put their memories away for a long time. He needed them, but he knew that one day they too would be placed in a footlocker, like their clothes and pictures, and stored away.
With tears in his eyes, he looked back at the enemy's building and spoke in a whisper into the small ball in front of his lips. "Charlie one in position."
A voice responded in his earpiece. "Roger, Charlie one.
Alpha one and Hotel one are standing by. One minute and thirty seconds, over."
Chick Cummings looked at the luminous hands of his watch and saw it was almost 1 A. M. Opening the breech of the shotgun like weapon, he slid a .40-millimeter flare round into the chamber. "Roger, good copy. I will give you a five second countdown. Break, Kilo one, this is Charlie one.
Team is in position. One minute till show time, over."
In the van, parked only two blocks from Dorba's gate entrance, Kelly exchanged looks with his three other team members before speaking. "Roger, we monitored and are standing by. Out." Kelly picked up the cellular phone and handed it to the broken man seated on the floor of the van.
"Call him. If you fuck it up you'll die very slowly."
Michael Woo took the phone without making eye contact and pressed the keys. He put the phone to his ear and waited.
"This is Michael Woo. I need to speak to Mr. Dorba.... I know he's in bed! Wake him. This is important! Mr. Dorba, this is Michael. My father called me minutes ago. He is very concerned and wished for me to talk to you this evening. I am in my car and will be there in five minutes.... Yes, it is very important. I can't say more over the phone. Thank you."
Woo handed the phone back to Kelly with dulled eyes.
"He'll be waiting."
Chick Cummings lifted his M-79 and aimed at the corner office on the top floor. On the lower floors all the lights were on and he could see office workers, but the top floor was totally black. He whispered as he clicked off the safety. "Five ... four ... three ... two ... one." He squeezed the trigger.
The weapon made a deep-throated thump. The black glass didn't shatter but spider webbed around the hole made
by the round. The shell hit the back office wall and exploded with a muffled pop and a burst of white light. Chick had already popped open the breech and pulled out the casing. He slid in another white-smoke round and fired again at the same office. Seeing his shot go through the window, he spoke in a normal tone into the tac set. "The first two are in target. It doesn't look like any more are needed. I'm observing occupants on sixth floor and it appears to be business as usual.
They didn't hear it, over."
Detective Alvarez and Al Hanson were parked only a hundred yards away from the building. From their position they had a perfect view of the smoke now coming through the holes in the glass on the top floor. "Roger, Charlie one. It looks good. We're moving now."
Alvarez started the engine of the red car, turned on the siren and bubble machine, and sped down the street. Screeching to a halt for effect, he and Hanson jumped out of the car and ran up to the main entrance.
The Chinese security guards behind their desk leaped up as the firemen rushed in the door. Alvarez yelled, "You've got a fire on the top floor! Clear the building immediately!"
"What fire? We don't have a fire," the chief of security replied, eyeing the men suspiciously. Hanson grabbed the officer's arm, pulled him out the door, and pointed up at the cloud of billowing smoke. "Look there, idiot! See for yourself! Now clear the fucking building! My partner and I are going to get our equipment and go up and see how bad it is!"
The security officer ran back inside and hit the fire alarm.
Alvarez had already opened the trunk of the car and tossed Hanson a heavy fireman jacket. The men smiled at each other and put on their fire hats and somber faces, then ran for the entrance.
It took them four minutes using the steps, for the elevators were all coming down full of night-shift workers. On the top floor they quickly checked the offices for people, then used fire ignitors to set two fires in the center offices. They tossed everything they could find that would burn onto the licking flames, then ran down to the next floor, which was filled with computers and telecommunications equipment. After checking again for people, they tossed two chairs through windows to create a draft and started two more fires, then moved down to the next floor and repeated the process.
Cummings watched the smoke pouring out of the three upper floors and spoke into his tac set. "You're doing just fine.
Uh-oh, I hear sirens. Looks like you're gonna have company real soon."
Alvarez popped another ignitor and tossed it into an open file drawer "Charlie one, let us know as soon as you see them approaching."
All four team members in the van were monitoring the radio messages of team one on their tac sets. Kelly nodded.
"Okay, it's our turn. Stick to the plan." He grabbed Woo's arm and pulled him up as Josh opened the van door.
Kelly walked Woo back to the Jaguar that Josh had driven over. "All right, Mike, so far you've done real good, but here's where you win the Academy Award. Me and Josh will be down in the backseat. When you pull into the gate do it just like we told ya. Do everything I said and you'll be one step closer to seeing your wife again. You got it?"
Woo nodded as if he were in a trance. Kelly lifted the man's chin. "Look at me and tell me you've got it."
"I've got it," Woo whispered weakly.
"Thatta boy, Mikey. You're doin' fine."
The guard in the key house stood as the Jaguar pulled up to the gate. He pressed the gate's electric button, having recognized the vehicle and driver. Putting on his hat, he stepped to the door and waved as Woo pulled in. Then the car suddenly stopped, blocking the gate, as its motor died. The Chinese guard sighed and walked toward the car. "What's the problem, Mr. Woo?" He saw the rear door of the car fly open and reached for his pistol. He felt as if he'd been poked in the side by a burning knife; a millisecond later came a jolt of excruciating pain. He knew he was falling face first toward the gravel but could do nothing but scream in silence.
Josh rolled the shaking man over and cuffed his wrists behind his back with a special plastic tie that could only be cut off. He did the same to the guard's ankles, then ran toward the distant house following the Jaguar, which was already moving. He looked over his shoulder-like clockwork the van was already through the open gate with its headlights off.
As soon as the Jaguar entered the lighted circular drive in front of the mansion, one of Dorba's security men stepped onto the porch to escort the lawyer in. Kelly peeped over the seat, then ducked down but kept his stun pistol pointed toward the open window. "Delay, Mike," he whispered. "Act like you're having trouble with the seat belt."
The guard waited for several moments before deciding to see what was holding up the boss's late-night visitor. He was within three feet of the car when Kelly sat up and fired through the open window. The big guard went down like a bag full of rocks. Kelly opened the car door and got out, then spun and shot Woo in the shoulder with a dart. Turning again, he reached the entrance just as Josh threw himself against the right side of the open front door. Kelly took the left side and nodded. Josh rushed inside with Kelly on his heels. The second bodyguard was standing in the entry when Josh went in. The thick-chested Chinaman's mouth partially opened as he fell backward in a deathlike paralysis. Kelly saw no other targets, so he took the lead and continued down the hall.
Wearing a silk robe, Dorba sat in his dining room drinking tea. He heard footsteps and turned in his chair, expecting Woo. Instead he saw a man dressed from head to foot in black pointing a huge pistol at his forehead. Dorba's face went slack and his bowels turned to water.
Kelly didn't hesitate at all. He used his forward momentum to backhand the old man across the face, knocking him to the floor. Forgetting the pain in his ribs, he bent over and viciously grabbed Dorba's thin shoulders. Kelly picked him up and slammed him back into the chair. He stuffed the belt of the old man's robe into his bleeding mouth, pulled his arms through the rails of the chair, and bound his wrists with a plastic tie.
Josh came into the room with Stephen and Youngblood.
Kelly motioned to the other detective and whispered, "Howie and I will clear the upstairs-you two take the rest of the downstairs."
Five minutes later the team reassembled in the dining room. Kelly and Youngblood had awakened two sleeping bodyguards with twenty-four hundred volts apiece. Josh and Stephen had found and tied up two sleeping servants.
Kelly nodded to Stephen, who left the room. Pulling up a chair, Kelly sat down facing Dorba and pulled the belt out of his mouth. "Look at me, asshole. We're gonna talk."
"Who are you?" Dorba hissed, as blood dribbled from his split lip.
Kelly motioned to himself, then Josh. "I'm John Wayne and this fella is the Lone Ranger. The other guys are Clint Eastwood and the Cisco Kid. We represent the cowboys of America."
"Are you thieves? What do you want?" Dorba asked, knowing that if they were going to kill him they already would have. He wanted to know all he could so his people could find them.
Kelly's eyes narrowed. "We want four hundred lives back, asshole! We're cowboys seeking vengeance for what you did. You fucked up, Dorba. That's right, we know your name.
You fucked up 'cause you pissed us off. Now we're going to teach you a little lesson-Don't ever fuck with us again!
Next time, you will die. Now let's get on with the lesson."
Kelly nodded at Josh, who pulled a fish knife from a scabbard on his belt. He stepped forward and stuck the point of the blade inside Dorba's left nostril. "First lesson, asshole," he said. "We're smarter than you. Your name is not Dorba.
You are Chin Fe Dang. You've been proclaimed San Chu by the Circle. You have a son in Seattle who is moving here to become your San for the city. Chen is your son's real name.
He has a fat wife named Su, who has given you two grandchildren. You recently received seventy tons of white powder that was stored in a warehouse in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Yes, was! It's all gone now. We cowboys told the FBI and DEA about it. We also told them about your othe
r heroin distribution centers-you know, the ones in Sacramento and Kansas?
You run your operation from an office in Chinatown. Your office is gone too-we cowboys burned it tonight. You pay for bringing in the white powder with this."
Josh flicked his wrist and the razor-sharp knife sliced through the skin between the left and right nostrils. Dorba's head snapped back as blood gushed from the wound.
Detective Youngblood stepped forward wearing a black hood like the others. He hissed in the bleeding man's face.
"Lesson two, turtle breath. We know what you are, who you are, and what you've done. You ordered the bombings of the conference and the Metro stations and you ordered hits on the families of police officers. You could never repay us with enough pain for that." He slipped on a pair of brass knuckles.
"But this is a start." He brought his fist back and slugged Dorba in the mouth, shattering his upper teeth.
Forged in Honor (1995) Page 36