Pulse Point

by Don Pendleton

  “Target is about a half mile in that direction,” Lopaka said.

  They moved off, Lopaka in the lead, taking them through the lush vegetation by the shortest route.

  “Bet my next month’s paycheck that this place is teeming with every kind of beetle, bug and snake ever created,” Blancanales muttered.

  “Could be a few,” Lopaka said. “Old Hawaiian saying. If you come face-to-face with anything, just stare it down, and it’ll back off.”

  “That true?” Blancanales asked.

  Schwarz could see her face over Blancanales’s shoulder, and though she didn’t flinch, he noted a mischievous glint in her eyes.

  His partner hadn’t seen that and took her pronouncement seriously. Then said, “Are you kidding me?”

  As usual Lyons saw through the female cop’s remark. “She is yanking your chain, Comer. Who the hell ever heard of a bug backing off?”

  Lopaka gave a soft chuckle. “Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Just give a girly scream and run like hell,” Lyons said.

  “That usually works for me,” Lopaka said.

  “You people are so not funny,” Blancanales said.

  Lopaka moved slightly ahead, with Lyons close behind, Schwarz and Blancanales at the rear.

  Under the canopy of vegetation, the air was humid, the ground underfoot soft. The dense growth of trees deprived them of full daylight, shadows gathering in pools along their path. The occasional squawk from some distant bird broke the silence.

  “This is like Jurassic Park,” Blancanales said. “You certain you don’t have raptors?”

  “I still think a full-on approach would have been a damn sight faster,” Schwarz said. “Big car and going in all guns blazing.”

  “You just don’t like the forest,” Blancanales said.

  “Got that in one.” He glanced at his partner. “Coming from you, that is priceless.”

  Lopaka raised a hand, her black-clad form dropping to a crouch. Able Team gathered close. The female cop parted a mass of ferns. A hundred yards ahead, where a slight downgrade leveled out, they could see their target—the sprawl of the big house. A number of vehicles were parked in the driveway that fronted the building. Among the collection was a panel truck.

  “That could be our panel truck,” Lyons said.

  Schwarz sighed. “This could be where we do the all guns blazing part.”

  “I don’t think those people down there are going to raise their hands and surrender,” Lopaka said.

  Lyons placed his hand against the dressing on his head. “All I’ve had since we got here has been grief. Shot at and given a hard time. I don’t have a great deal of sympathy for these perps.”

  Lopaka had passed her binoculars across to Schwarz. He was scanning the area. He locked on to a couple figures coming into sight from the side of the house.

  “Is it normal for Hawaiian householders to walk around with autorifles?” he asked conversationally.

  “Not really,” the cop said.

  “Then we either got someone playing around, or this is crunch time.”

  “You see any others?” Lyons asked.

  “Not right now,” Schwarz said. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Inside the house. Out back. Take your pick.”

  Lyons took the binoculars Lopaka now handed him and zoned in on the rear of the truck, making a note of the license plate. He quoted the number to Lopaka.

  “Call Kalikani. Ask if he can trace the number.”

  Lopaka nodded and started her call to Kalikani’s personal phone.

  Lyons was staring down at the scene below, his expression studious.

  “What are you thinking?” Blancanales asked.

  “That maybe the truck down there is a blind. These guys were sharp enough to take the unit and get away. What are they hanging around for and leaving that truck in sight?”

  “Doesn’t make too much sense,” Schwarz agreed.

  “Make sense of this,” Lopaka said. “Kalikani sent me a text message. The license number belongs to a rental company. They deal in commercial vehicles. O got the details of the renter. An Oriental food distributer with dealings in the city.”

  “That sounds all legitimate and open,” Blancanales said. “Could be a nice cover. A way of staying under the radar.”

  “Kalikani found out that the same renter also hired a second vehicle. Same day. Different color.”

  “Two trucks? I only see one,” Schwarz said.

  “Jenny, call Oscar back,” Blancanales said. “Get him to scan traffic cameras. Any cameras he can. See if they can spot that second truck. Where it might be. If Honolulu is like mainland cities, there should be cameras on every street. We might get lucky.”

  “What are you thinking?” Lyons asked.

  “That the hijackers took the package from the convoy. The panel truck down there headed back toward the city. My guess is the plates were changed before the hit, then changed back. And the package could have been transferred to a second vehicle before the truck down there returned to the city. All to do with throwing the cops off the scent in case the original truck was spotted and identified. They rendezvous with the second truck and transfer the package.” Blancanales shrugged. “It’s only a theory.”

  “Got me confused,” Schwarz said.

  “Smoke and mirrors,” Lopaka said. “Get people to look in one direction, while the real deal is going down somewhere else.”

  Lyons nodded. “Maybe I should trade this pair in and take you on.”

  “I could be hurt from remarks like that,” Blancanales said.

  “Comer. Hartz. Circle to the rear. Lopaka with me. If that panel truck doesn’t have the package, we need to find out where it is and fast. Give me a cell buzz when you’re in position.”

  “See,” Schwarz said. “He always gets the girl.”

  Blancanales patted Lopaka on the shoulder. “He’ll watch your back. Stay safe.”

  The Able Team pair slid off into the shrubbery, leaving Lyons and Lopaka alone.

  They crouched in the foliage and watched the frontage, the pair of armed guys below doing little except surveying their surroundings.

  It took a good eight minutes before Lyons’s cell buzzed. It was the signal he had been waiting for.

  “We’re up,” he said.

  Lopaka raised her shotgun. “Let’s go.”

  They used as much cover as they could, working their way toward the house and the pair on watch.

  “Just remember what these dirtbags did when they hit that convoy,” Lyons said. “They get no favors.”

  He didn’t need to elaborate. Lopaka understood his mood and was prepared herself for dealing with the strike team.

  “You take the guy on the right,” Lyons said quietly as they cleared the last of the shrubbery, exposing themselves as they moved across the driveway.

  Lyons shouldered his SPAS. Beside him Lopaka raised her own weapon.

  Movement alerted the watchers. The guy closest to Lyons and Lopaka swung around, his weapon lifting.

  Lopaka, already on track, moved the barrel of her shotgun and fired. The target jerked to one side as the shotgun charge slammed into his left shoulder. He went to his knees, dropping his weapon and clutching a hand to the wound, blood oozing thickly from between his fingers.

  Lyons saw his mark spin around and drop to a crouch, reducing his body mass. The guy brought his autorifle around as he moved, lining up for a shot. The SPAS slammed out its sound, the powerful 12-gauge shot catching the guy in the throat. The force of the burst ripped the guy’s flesh wide open and his head flopped to one side, held now by torn stringy muscle and tissue.

  “Keep moving,” Lyons yelled.
/>   Lopaka stayed at his heels as they closed on the house...

  * * *

  BLANCANALES AND SCHWARZ met no resistance as they circled the property and edged in to the rear of the house. The lush Hawaiian foliage had been left untouched and had encroached on the building. A wide patio area showed growing weeds.

  “This is a temporary billet,” Schwarz said to his partner.

  “Maybe it’s time to flush out the pack rats.”

  The distant crack of shotguns reached them.

  “Sounds like our cue,” Blancanales said.

  They moved across the wide overgrown patio, heading for the closed French doors.

  “Got your invitation?” Schwarz asked.

  “Yeah,” Blancanales said, raising a booted foot and slamming it against the lock mechanism set in the wooden surround. The frame splintered and glass shattered. Blancanales reached in and yanked open the doors.

  Schwarz spotted movement on the far side of the shadowed room beyond the doors.

  “Down,” he yelled.

  He and Blancanales dropped to crouches as a figure ran across the room in their direction, an SMG tracking ahead of him. He opened fire, his shots high, and glass blew out of the frames.

  Schwarz made a decoy move and the shooter turned in his direction. The moment he was distracted, Blancanales opened up with his 9 mm Uzi, the Israeli weapon crackling loudly as it delivered a long burst. The advancing guy was caught in the upper body, jerking to one side as Blancanales’s volley impacted against him. He toppled back, colliding with a cane chair, and thumped to the floor.

  Blancanales had moved to the door, now pulling back as autofire directed a hail of slugs toward him that ripped out splinters from the frame. Schwarz heard him mutter as a sliver gashed his cheek.

  “They don’t want to invite us in,” he said.

  Schwarz crouched low on the other side of the door as a second burst hammered into the wood. He pushed his Uzi around the frame, low-down, and triggered a burst along the outer wall. Someone gave a pained yell. Blancanales burst through the door, slamming against the wall on the far side of the passage. He saw the shooter, still holding his weapon with one hand as he clutched at the bloody wound in his lower calf. Blancanales brought the Uzi into play and hit the guy chest high, knocking him to the floor.

  Schwarz joined him, and they moved quickly along the passage toward the front of the house, hearing a sudden, intense round of gunfire...

  * * *

  “WHAT THE HELL...?” Ralph Spelman yelled as he heard the muffled sound of shotgun blasts coming from outside the house.

  He pushed up out of the deep chair and made a grab for his Desert Eagle lying on the side table. “Gabe, check the rear. Go with him, French.”

  As Spelman left the room, turning across the entrance hall, he saw dark shapes through the glass panels of the front entrance.

  A moment later the double doors were kicked open. Two armed figures showed: one male, one female. The woman wore the black uniform of the HPD, and both intruders carried shotguns.

  Spelman triggered a hasty shot at the pair, more out of respect for the lethal weapons they were wielding; he understood the concept of a shotgun and the deadly spread of its load. His .357 Magnum slug went over the heads of the targets. Spelman had turned aside by this time, desperate to get fully clear before either of the shoguns fired.

  Lyons and Lopaka triggered in the same moment, the twin blasts of their weapons filling the hallway with sound.

  Spelman took one shot in his left shoulder, flesh and bone torn apart by the impact. The second shot, from Lopaka’s weapon, caught him between his shoulders, burning through to shatter his spine and dump him fully flat.

  “Keep moving,” Lyons yelled.

  They swept the area, muzzles up and tracking every shadow, every corner.

  A figure appeared at the top of the stairs, SMG angling down. The shooter fired, and his 9 mm burst hit Lopaka in the left side. Her body armor absorbed the punch, but the force kicked her backward, breath driven from her body. She stumbled but kept her feet, face twisted in pain.

  Lyons had leaned forward, shotgun sweeping up and firing. The distance reduced the full impact of the shot. There was enough to pepper the shooter’s torso and unbalance him. Before he made any kind of recovery, Lyons had replaced the SPAS with his Python, sending a pair of .357 slugs into the guy. He fell back against the stairs, slithering down until he was hit by Lyons’s third shot. This one plowed in through his head and out the rear of his skull.

  “Lopaka?”

  “I’m okay,” the cop said, sucking air back into her lungs.

  She turned even as she spoke, the Benelli’s muzzle following and blasting a shot at the shadowy figure emerging from a doorway. Splintered wood from the frame exploded as her shot caught the armed guy in the face and neck. He dropped to his knees, groaning from the pain, blood starting to well from the punctures in his flesh. His autopistol slipped from his fingers. Lopaka crossed over and kicked the weapon out of reach.

  “Don’t you move,” she snapped at the guy.

  He had his hands clasped to his face. Blood was seeping between his fingers.

  Across the hall Lyons was scoping the stairs and the hall, his shotgun back in his grasp.

  The sudden crackle of Uzi SMGs came from the rear of the house.

  Schwarz and Blancanales were making their presence known.

  There was no more sound following the shooting until the Able Team pair moved into view. They spotted Lyons and Lopaka.

  “Clear at the rear,” Blancanales announced.

  “Check the upper floor,” Lyons said.

  Schwarz and Blancanales covered each other as they went up the stairs, then moved from room to room. Lyons followed through on the ground floor and cleared each room, making sure there were no hidden shooters.

  It was only when they were satisfied that they rejoined in the hallway.

  “We done?” Lyons asked.

  “Clear,” Schwarz said.

  “I didn’t see any package,” Blancanales said.

  “Not down here,” Lyons said. “They’ve got it at another location.”

  Lopaka had her shotgun held on the guy she had wounded.

  “Maybe this guy can tell us what we need to know,” she said.

  “I’m hurting,” the wounded man said.

  Lyons stood over him, his Python in his hand again.

  “You want Officer Lopaka to call this in? Ask for medical aid?”

  “I damn well don’t need Smokey the Bear,” the guy grumbled.

  “Wounded and a comic,” Schwarz said.

  “I’d let him bleed all over the floor,” Lyons snapped. “Save us a lot of trouble.”

  Lopaka leaned against the door frame, left hand pressed to her ribs. Her face had paled as the effect of the shot increased.

  “Hey, you take a hit?” Blancanales asked.

  “Over my ribs. Jacket took the worst.”

  Blancanales moved her from the door to check her out.

  “Hey!” The wounded guy was trying to get attention. “You going to call?”

  “Where’s Macklin and the rest of your crew?” Lyons asked. “And the package?”

  “Do I look as if I give a damn?”

  “You look ready to pass out,” Schwarz said. “Blood loss will do that for you.”

  The guy held his blood-dripping hands in front of his face.

  “We should get Officer Lopaka out of here,” Blancanales said. He had closed her shirt back over her exposed side. “I’d say she’s got a couple cracked ribs. She needs treatment. Now.”

  Lyons nodded. “Clear any weapons away. Get her in a car, and we’ll head for the hospital.”

  Schwarz checked the wounded
man for a cell phone. He found one and took it off the guy. “I’ll clear all the others,” he said. “Don’t want this guy calling his buddies.”

  “I can show you the way to the hospital,” Lopaka said. “No need to call it in.”

  She had caught on to what the others were doing and fell in with the deception. As Blancanales helped her, she slid an arm across his shoulder for support.

  “All clear here,” Schwarz said.

  “What about me?” the wounded guy said. He was slumped on the floor now, leaning against the door frame.

  “I don’t see you on our list,” Lyons said.

  “Leaving me to die? What about me?”

  Jenny Lopaka said, “That hit you made on the convoy left six HPD officers dead. Six, you piece of trash. So what about you? Only one cop survived and he identified one of your crew. Jake Borgnine. We checked you all out. Macklin. Borgnine. All the others in your scumbag crew. We know who you are. We know what you did.”

  “Lady’s right,” Lyons said. “Your days will be numbered now by how many you have left to serve. And it will be a hell of a lot.”

  “You figure to leave me here? Christ, I’m leaking blood all over the damn floor.”

  “Tough,” Schwarz said. “I thought you military types were hard. Sounds to me you could do with some help.”

  “Yeah? What will it cost?”

  “Where’s Macklin and the package?” Lyons said.

  “Give up my buddies? Go screw yourself.”

  “Your choice,” Lyons said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Outside they could still hear the guy ranting at them.

  Lyons said, “Take one of their vehicles and go pick ours up. Lopaka can stay with me and call in the cavalry. Get the perp picked up.”

  * * *

  SCHWARZ AND BLANCANALES had driven off in one of the cars parked outside the house.

  Lopaka called up Kalikani on his cell and gave him a rundown on what had happened. He told her that he would send HPD and medical help to the house.

  While Lopaka spoke to Kalikani, Lyons went inside and saw the wounded guy unconscious on the floor. He checked the man. His pulse was thready, but the man was still alive.

  Making his way back outside, Lyons walked by the rented panel van. He stopped as he did, something clicking in his head.