by Peter Darley
Jed stepped in front of him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I . . . I killed them. The last time was Payne.”
“Then count this as four times you’ve done the world a favor. Those guys just tried to draw on you. You had no choice.”
Jed glanced around the room. His fingers slid through a series of papers, Chinese trinkets, and insignia on the desk. There was a particular golden dragon emblem on the walls, on the paperwork, and on the lapels of the dead men on the floor. His eyebrows rose. “Oh, my God. I know what this is.”
“What?”
Jed gestured to another screen in the far corner of the room with the image a black man set in freeze frame. “Is this the guy? Is this Sapphire?”
Brandon came up behind him. “I guess it has to be. Ugly son of a bitch, isn’t he?”
“No, no, no. This can’t be right,” Crane said. “No African-American would be at the top of an organization like this.”
“I don’t understand.”
Crane reached behind the monitor screen and followed the connection cables with his fingers. “Just as I suspected. These wires are linked to a digital enhancement computer.”
“What?”
“This guy isn’t being transmitted from anywhere. This isn’t a live-link transmission receiver. It’s a digital creative suite.”
“So, what are we dealing with?”
“Tong.”
“Tong?”
“Chinese mafia. Or, at least some offshoot of it. They’re obviously concealing their activities from whatever Tong family they broke away from. Chances are, even their customers don’t know who they really are. They’re using American thugs as an outward cover, like those two clowns you zapped outside.”
Brandon pointed to the screen. “So, who the hell is he?”
“He’s nobody, Brandon. He’s a computer-generated, digital glove puppet that’s being used as a cover.”
Brandon’s mouth fell open. The answer had been staring them all in the face from the beginning. How could a man, who could put so much fear into people, be so untraceable? How could nobody have ever seen him?
The answer fell from his lips as he finally understood. “Sapphire doesn’t exist.”
Forty-Three
Warriors
Jed watched anxiously as Brandon seemed transfixed by the image of Sapphire on the monitor. The lifelike nature of it was staggering. It was clear to him how it had fooled so many.
“Come on,” Jed said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Brandon turned around and headed toward the door. The sound of running feet came from the corridor.
As they reached the doorway, they found themselves blocked in by a team of Chinese goons all dressed in black security attire. The six-feet-tall, broad-shouldered leader kicked Brandon squarely in the chest, sending him flying back across the room into the Sapphire monitor.
Jed drew his pistol, but the attacker knocked it out of his hand. Jed fell under the impact of a well-placed fist to his left jaw.
Brandon got back on his feet and screamed as the leader grasped his shoulder.
Jed looked up from the floor as Brandon cried out in agony. He remembered, from the reports of Drake’s escape from Leavenworth, that he’d taken a bullet in the shoulder. Clearly, this huge attacker was exerting a Herculean grip on the wound.
But then, something happened. The pain seemed to trigger off an all-consuming rage within Drake. His eyes rapidly took on a look of unbridled hatred and became bloodshot. The scar on his forehead deepened, and Jed knew what was happening. He recalled the details of Brandon’s rampage during his trial at Fort Bragg. It made more sense after Brandon told him his memory had been changed, and that he used to be a psychopath known as The Scorpion. But if there was ever a time he would have wished for it to happen, it was now.
“Get your hands off me, motherfucker!” Brandon drove his elbow back into the man’s solar plexus and threw him over his shoulder into the monitor screens.
Three more attackers were upon him in an instant. One grasped his throat, but he snapped the man’s wrist just as quickly. As his assailant fell to the floor, writhing in pain, his right foot shot up to collide with the jaws of the other two, shattering their teeth with blinding speed.
The fourth attacker drew his gun on Brandon. Jed drew his .45 caliber and fired without hesitation. The attacker fell, holding his chest, with blood oozing through his fingers.
Brandon glanced behind at Jed, momentarily distracted from the continuing threats.
Jed saw a fifth Chinese assailant pointing a gun at Brandon. “Look out!”
In the blink of an eye, Drake kicked the weapon out the man’s hand.
The attacker assumed a martial arts stance, raising the blades of his hands defensively in front of his face.
Brandon reciprocated.
The assailant issued his battle cry and shot a series of kicks toward Brandon’s head. However, Brandon blocked every strike, catching the man’s right leg long enough to drive his elbow into his knee, inverting it irreparably. A bellow filled the room as the attacker collapsed. Brandon came toward him with a maniacal look in his eyes.
The first attacker regained his senses, pushed himself up off the shattered monitors, and drew his gun. Brandon pointed his machine pistol in his face and fired without moving his gaze from the whimpering assailant on the floor. Blood and brain matter painted the wall, but Brandon didn’t give it so much as a glance.
“P-please. No shoot. No shoot,” the fallen attacker pleaded in broken English, his eyes wide with terror.
Brandon knelt down beside him and pressed the muzzle of his gun into his shattered knee. The assailant’s high pitched, banshee-like scream seemed barely human.
“Where’s my brother?” Brandon growled.
“No know who you mean.”
“The young, good-looking guy who came in here with Fong.”
The assailant shook his head, refusing to speak.
Brandon pressed the pistol into the broken knee again, producing another ear-splitting cry.
“P-please, stop!”
“Where is he?”
“With Mae Ling.”
“Who’s Mae Ling?”
The man wept as his resolve gave out. “E-end of corridor . . . turn left. End corridor . . . right . . . last door.”
Brandon stood and stared at his adversary for a moment. Without warning, he raised his pistol and fired until virtually nothing was left of his foe’s head.
Jed watched and shivered. The man had been helpless, but Drake killed him without a second thought. His persona had changed so rapidly.
Brandon picked his helmet up from the floor, placed it back on his head, and walked out without a word.
With his pistol in hand, and a machine gun and satchel across his shoulder, Crane followed him with growing unease. They may have needed The Scorpion in that moment, but he considered the possibility that the solution may be just as hazardous as the problem. Brandon Drake was clearly out of control.
***
Jin kicked Tyler in the stomach, knocking him across the width of Mae Ling’s office. “Who are you working for?”
Tyler gasped for breath lying on his side in a fetal position, grimacing in pain. “I–I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. You’re making a mistake.”
“Who is this Emily to you?”
“J-just some broad I bought down there.”
Jin bent down and grasped him by the throat. Tyler gripped the man’s wrist, but Jin was far stronger. Lifting Tyler off the ground, he pinned him up against the wall. “Wrong answer. Now, who is she to you?”
Tyler’s eyes bulged as he felt his face becoming a dark shade of purple. He tried to speak but it was impossible. Jin was choking him to death.
The office door crashed in.
Jin loosened his grip. Tyler fell to his knees grasping his throat, barely able to see clearly.
The Chinese behemoth turned to the black-garbed titan a
nd drove his fist into the helmet, but he seemed unfazed by the blow. Brandon allowed him to strike again, and again, almost tauntingly, but the blows were having no effect.
Jin hurled himself upon Brandon, driving him back into the wall. Pinned against the plaster, and unable to move his arms, he drove his helmet into Jin’s nose, breaking it. Blood spattered the hoodlum’s face, giving Brandon the opportunity to break away from the loosened grip. With two free hands, he grasped Jin’s head and rotated it clockwise to the sound of a hollow crack.
Jin’s lifeless form fell from his grasp.
Tyler stood and approached his brother. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”
Brandon turned his shielded head toward him menacingly.
Tyler swallowed hard.
***
Belinda chewed her hair anxiously. Nikki sat with her in the van, and placed a supportive arm around her shoulder. “I wish there was something I could say.”
Belinda opened the side door. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I just need some air.”
Nikki followed her out, and they walked toward the end of the side street.
“This is driving me crazy,” Belinda said, shaking. “They’re in there, and I haven’t a clue what’s going on.”
“I know, but there’s nothing we can do. It’s out of our hands.”
They reached the end of the street and looked around aimlessly.
To the right, Belinda noticed headlights coming toward them in the distance. “Wait. Somebody’s coming.”
Nikki looked in the same direction. Another vehicle appeared behind the first. And another.
The rear cars stopped, but the first continued along the street. As it came closer, Belinda squinted. “Is . . . ?”
“What?”
“Is that a jeep?”
Nikki walked closer to it. “It’s a Humvee, I think.”
“Oh, God.” Belinda’s feet automatically stepped backward. “Come on.”
With a brisk pace, Nikki followed her to the rear of the van. Belinda crouched down in the shadows, peered around the side, and saw the Humvee pass the side street.
Nikki crouched low behind her and watched through the mesh fencing. The Humvee turned onto the warehouse complex and stopped approximately one hundred yards from the front of the Hamlin factory.
The doors flew open and six men stepped out, fully armored in pale camouflage, each carrying automatic firearms.
Belinda studied the scene and it quickly became apparent who was leading the operation. The sergeant major directed the other soldiers to disperse around the factory. Belinda recognized him, even from a distance. “David?”
“What?”
“I know who that man is.”
“Who?”
“His name is David Spicer. He’s Brandon’s friend. He helped us in North Carolina a couple of years ago.”
“Well, that’s got to be a good thing, surely. He’s gonna be getting military help in there.”
“I sure hope you’re right.” Belinda reached underneath her jacket and gently touched Tyler’s Super Carry HD tucked into the rim of her jeans. “But we’re not as helpless as you think.”
***
Ten police officers set up a roadblock while attempting to keep the onlookers and TV crew at bay.
Looking particularly exasperated, Chief Tepper approached a younger officer. “Blaine, I want you to handle the reporters. I’ve got enough to deal with. I don’t need this crap right now.”
“Yes, sir.” Officer Jack Blaine approached Tara Willoughby and her camera crew.
Tara pointed her microphone toward him. “Officer, what can you tell us?”
“There’s no comment at this time, Ms. Willoughby, so I’m going to have to ask you to stand back.”
Undeterred, she persisted. “Is there any truth to the rumors that this is a covert military operation with Homeland Security involvement?”
“Ma’am, we have no information at this time.”
“Does this have anything to do with Brandon Drake?”
Blaine was momentarily silent. He was as ‘in the dark’ as every other officer present, but the mention of Drake’s name struck a very personal chord with him. The incident of two years ago flashed before his eyes, when Drake, a man he’d been pursuing through the back streets of L.A., stopped and risked his own escape to help him. Blaine could almost feel the impact of the bullet wound again—the injury Drake had stopped to bind in order to save his life. The thought that he might now be a party to apprehending Drake was loathsome, especially if Brandon was, once again, in the process of helping innocent people. He could do no more than give an honest answer. “I sure hope not.”
“Thank you, officer.” Tara turned to the camera. “Are we ready?”
“Yep,” the cameraman said.
She raised the microphone to her mouth again. “This is Tara Willoughby, reporting live from L.A. Harbor.”
***
Brandon lifted his visor, and Tyler’s concern eased for a moment.
“Are you OK?” Brandon said.
Tyler could hear the coldness in his brother’s tone and the violence in his eyes was unmistakable. He instinctively knew The Scorpion persona was dominant. “I’m fine. They figured me out because I looked like Emily.”
“I heard it on the receiver. Where is she?”
“The last I saw, she was being taken behind the stage with the others.”
“Show me where.”
Jed entered the room.
“What are you doing here?” Tyler said.
“Long story,” Jed replied. “Where’s this Mae Ling?”
“I don’t know.” Tyler gestured to Jin’s corpse. “She just took off with Fong, and left me in here with that son of a bitch.”
Brandon took the machine gun from his shoulder and motioned to the shattered door. “Show me where the stage is.”
Tyler gingerly stepped past Brandon and led them out.
As Tyler and Jed followed, Brandon checked the machine gun, satisfying himself that it was loaded and in order. It was a cumbersome weapon, but he wasn’t about to waste valuable artillery. He decided he would eject the bullets in it first and then use the machine pistols.
Tyler led them down the stairwell into the bar area. The patrons ceased their discussions and turned to them fearfully.
Brandon and Jed made their way through the crowd with their guns trained on them.
Brandon noticed Jed’s eyes showing a surge of revulsion. Even through his dark haze, Brandon remembered he was going to become a father. The fury took hold of him again. These were sick monsters who bought children to sexually abuse and torture them. He had no control over himself any longer. He raised the machine gun and prepared to dispatch every one of them.
The sound of a stampede coming from the stairwell distracted him. Running back, he looked up to see a cadre of armed, Chinese killers coming down the steps. Without hesitation, he opened fire, and the bar area was filled with screams.
He called out to Tyler and Jed, “I’ll hold them off. Get the women and children out of here. Go! Go! Go!”
Forty-Four
Big Brother
David Spicer joined his five men at the rear door of the factory and stepped around two fallen guards who seemed to be regaining consciousness. The sound of machine gun fire rang out from inside, along with a very distinctive roar.
“That’s Drake. I’d know that battle cry anywhere.” David turned to his men and made a very personal decision. “Gentlemen, we go in and stand with him.”
The soldiers gripped their guns and ran up the steps, single file.
David quickly considered his strategy. He couldn’t tell Brandon the truth of why they had come. At least not yet.
Brandon chased the attackers relentlessly through the upper floor of the complex. He’d driven them back to the first floor corridor and taken four of them out. At least another fifteen remained, but his
onslaught was successfully keeping them at bay. He was just one man, completely outnumbered, and yet he didn’t give any of them the opportunity to turn around and retaliate. So much was at stake. At all costs, he had to drive them away from his brother and sister.
They turned into the last corridor toward the steps leading to the back exit.
Brandon held himself still at the sound of another hail of bullets coming from around the corner. What the hell?
Then he heard another stampede coming toward him. It became quieter again, as though they’d changed direction.
Readying his machine gun, he resumed his pursuit of the traffickers, having spotted the last of them hurrying through a left side door.
And then he saw David and five troopers. A dead Chinese operative was on the floor behind them, riddled with bullets. He instantly realized what the other gunfire had been. The traffickers had run into the soldiers and retreated.
David halted and frowned, raising his hand for his men to stop. “Drake?”
Brandon and David looked upon one another with mutual uncertainty.
Brandon lowered his firearm, noticing David’s rank bars. He lifted his visor and saluted. “Sergeant Major. What—?”
“We’re here to help,” David said.
“We have to stop them, sir. They have my sister and many others. Women and children. My brother is trying to get them out of here. Those bastards are heading back down. We can’t let them get to the captives.”
Spicer kept his eyes on Drake and issued his order. “You heard, gentlemen. Follow Sergeant Drake and back him up.”
Brandon managed a smile. “Thank you, sir.”
Spicer grinned wryly. “That outfit is ridiculous, soldier.”
“You can sue me later, sir.” Brandon lowered the visor and headed through the side door.
He quickly came upon the heavies as they arrived at a catwalk leading to a metallic stairwell. At the bottom was the arrival bay. Within seconds, they were midway down the steps.