“I’ve put together a team of Chinese Nùng mercenaries and got them on standby,” Willy said. The Chinese Nùng were a minority group that mostly came from northeastern Vietnam. Extremely loyal and fierce fighters, CIA and special ops worked with them often—a relationship dating back to the Vietnam War. “They’ll serve as a quick reaction force in case you get into trouble. If you end up in China, we already have some transmission repeaters planted on the Chinese side of the border, and we’re running a covert mobile communications truck there disguised as a local vehicle, but if you get too far into the mountains, we may not be able to parley.”
“We’ll be back soon,” Max said.
“Stay frosty,” Willy said.
Max and Tom hastened out of the room, snatched Thu out of the interrogation room, and pushed him outside.
Thu had given them a location that was two hundred klicks away to the northeast. They made him drive his Toyota 4WD SUV to the Vietnam-China border. Then they traveled a dirt road up a mountain before pulling over to the side and parking. With one hand, Max aimed his submachine gun in Thu’s direction. Max held out his other hand. “The keys to the vehicle. Give them to me.”
Thu’s eyes pointed back at Max like daggers. He removed the keys from the ignition and handed them over. “Gang Fang has dangerous friends,” Thu said with a nervous laugh.
Max ignored his words, put the keys in his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and tapped into his GPS, which he used to record their stopping location so they could find their way back if needed.
Tom radioed Willy with their location. “We’re getting ready to head out on foot,” Tom said over their comms. “Go ahead and bring your friends into position and stand by.”
Max shifted his eyes from his GPS to Thu. Max didn’t raise his voice, but menacing promise filled it. “If you play games, I’ll kill you. If you lead us into an ambush, I’ll kill you. We better find him, or I’ll kill you. I won’t just kill you, but I’ll kill every last one of your bastard buddies, all their leaders, and blow their barracks and headquarters to hell. And then I’ll piss on their pieces.”
Thu’s face became sober. “I will help you find him.”
Tom’s tone was sober. “Max’s bite is worse than his bark.”
The lights were on in Thu’s eyes, but he didn’t seem to understand Tom’s remark.
The three men stepped out of the vehicle, and Thu led them in a hike up a long path. They patrolled past dark evergreens to an area where the needles became lighter. Then the trees became sparse, and dry grass covered open land. Thu led them along a trail where the grass was flattened and bent. Without the concealment of trees, Max felt naked and was eager to leave the open area and reach the tree line ahead.
They hiked into a small grove of evergreens, and Max scanned the environment in front of them for threats. Tom watched their back. As they were about to emerge from the other side of the grove, they spotted two buildings in a clearing beyond. Max grabbed Thu by the shirt and pulled him to the ground. Tom hugged the earth with them. Thu attempted to speak, but Max put his hand over Thu’s mouth to shut him up.
The three of them lay there and observed the buildings. There was no fence around the perimeter, and the place seemed deserted. Rather than move in immediately, they watched and listened to make sure. Maybe this was a trap. Several heavy engines rumbled through the woods to their left, alternating between low and high gears, slow and fast, as if conducting training maneuvers. For fifteen minutes, Max and Tom continued to watch the buildings, but there was no activity.
Tom looked at Max. The more the clock ticked, the less chance they’d find their father. They both knew that. They stood up, Max pulling Thu up with them. Then they left the cover of the trees and approached the nearer building.
Max turned the doorknob—it was unlocked. He eyed Tom to see if he was ready. Tom nodded. Max threw open the door and Tom rushed inside. Max followed, holding a handful of Thu’s shirt and guiding him. They found chairs, tables, and a whiteboard, like some sort of training classroom, but no Dad. This was beginning to feel like a wild goose chase.
The next building was smaller, its interior furnished like a lounge area to sit and relax in. Again, there were no signs of anyone. Max and Tom aimed their rifles at Thu.
“What the hell is going on?” Max demanded.
“I’m sorry,” Thu said. “There are two locations, and I didn’t know which one to go to first.”
Max hissed. “Two? Now you tell us?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll take you to the right place.”
“Are you sure you know the right place?” Max asked. “Because if you’re wasting our time …”
“I remember, I remember,” Thu insisted. “I’ll take you to the right place.”
9
Hank sat in his cell dreading the arrival of Oxford’s assistant—the dentist. Oxford had ordered Hank’s captors to take his shoes, and an insect bit him on the naked foot. Through the thin opening at the bottom of his blindfold, he spotted a staggered line of fire ants venturing in his direction. He stepped on the ones closest to him, crushing them and halting their advance for the moment.
Maybe Oxford was bluffing about the dentist. If he isn’t bluffing, why can’t he just torture me himself? Why does he need the dentist? It was possible that Oxford was doing this as a sadist, but he seemed more professional than someone who was just getting his freak on.
The Chinese could either hold onto Hank as a bargaining chip or execute him. If they found out he was working for the Agency, they’d likely execute him. He lay down on his side and closed his eyes. His thoughts moved forward, backwards, sideways, and diagonally like pieces on a chessboard, trying to figure out Oxford’s next move and next-next move.
As he simulated moves in the darkness of his mind, he heard his door being quietly unlocked. There had been no footsteps warning him. He knew who it was. When he opened his eyes, he verified it through the lower opening in his blindfold—dirty white tennis shoes with a red star on each. Knockoff.
Knockoff touched Hank’s shoulder, so Hank rearranged the pieces on his chessboard and simulated a new game. One hand remained on Hank’s shoulder while the other stroked his hair. Once again, Knockoff whispered Chinese in Hank’s ear.
Hank stopped his chess game and smiled.
Knockoff ceased whispering as if surprised that Hank smiled instead of telling him no.
Hank seized the moment and head-butted the guard, stunning him. Then he repositioned himself on the ground and wrapped his legs around Knockoff’s neck in a Brazilian jiu-jitsu blood choke. He had only performed the move in practice, and he hoped he had a good hold. Rather than focus on strength, he concentrated on technique. Knockoff came to and swung his fists, but Hank took the shots, tightening the vise on Knockoff’s carotid arteries while applying pressure to the nerve baroreceptors. Without speaking, Hank counted the seconds: one, two, three, four—Knockoff’s body went limp.
Hank anxiously listened for approaching footsteps, continuing to count the seconds. If Oxford and the dentist showed up now, they wouldn’t be pleased. He lost count.
Hank released his blood choke hold, and Knockoff’s head hit the deck. Knockoff might wake up, but Oxford and the dentist could arrive at any minute. Hank twisted around until he could feel the guard with his hands. In a pocket, he found keys. After fishing them out, he unlocked his handcuffs. The thought crossed his mind to put the handcuffs on Knockoff to bind him, but he had a more definitive solution—after tearing off his blindfold and dropping it on the ground, he snapped Knockoff’s neck. It sounded like a light bulb popped, and he feared someone might come to investigate.
Hank stepped out of his cell. The hall was empty, and Knockoff’s Chinese AK leaned against the wall. He picked it up and made sure a round was in the chamber. The Agency had only trained him to be a spy, but the Marine Corps had trained him to be a master of firearms. Even so, doubt crept in—What if I can’t shoot my way out of this? As he passed an empty cel
l, he consciously transformed his doubt into something helpful—I’m an expert marksman. His mind sifted through the fundamentals of marksmanship—rifle position, sight alignment, trigger control, breathing, follow through, and reading his sights—but the fundamentals flew through his mind at Mach 1 and drained his brain. He was in danger of overthinking what he already knew, so he simplified—just make it go bang, and hit what you aim at. In the hall, there was only one door. He advanced to it and turned the doorknob. His heart pounded so strongly that his chest seemed to vibrate.
He cracked the thin wooden door open and took a peek, spotting four men with bad haircuts: cue ball, bowl cut, Bozo the Clown, and Bangs-in-His-Eyes. They sat in what appeared to be a one-room cabin, at a table chatting in Chinese and playing cards, their weapons against the wall. There was a fireplace with a pot over it for cooking, but the place was sparsely furnished. Even with the element of surprise, he wasn’t sure he could take all four of them at once. Even if he could, he might get bogged down in a fight here while reinforcements arrived from outside.
From Hank’s angle, he could see a window to the outside world but no door. Because there wasn’t another door the way he’d came from, there had to be an exit here. He hoped he could make it outside, but even if he did, the four men would soon be after him. If he shot one of them now, that’d be one less person pursuing him, but he didn’t know how many guards were outside or where they were positioned, and shooting one inside the building now would alert those on the outside. The more precious time he spent considering the possibilities, the more he felt his opportunity to escape slip through his hands.
He decided to make a run for it, and he wouldn’t be captured again. If he died trying, at least he’d die on his own terms. He pushed the door open, spotted the exit, and sprinted to it. The four men jumped from their chairs, but he left the building before they could grab him.
Outdoors, the sunlight blinded him, and there was smoke in the air and the smell of food. He didn’t know exactly where he was, but he ran, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the four guards. Twenty meters ahead was a guard in a shack next to a dirt road leading out of the area. Hank didn’t want to tangle with him; he only wanted to escape. There were three other wooden buildings. No walls or fences surrounded the compound, just trees. Good. He cut a right angle and headed for the woods. Shouts came from the building he’d just escaped.
He sprinted to the tree line, and a man materialized in front of him. He had been so stationary there that Hank hadn’t noticed him. His back was to Hank, and his shoulders and arms moved as if he’d just urinated and was zipping up his fly. The man picked up his AK and turned around, but when he spotted Hank, his body trembled. Hank flipped the fire-selector switch of his AK off safety and aimed at the man’s upper body. He pulled the trigger. Instead of the single shot he expected, his weapon fired on full auto, hammering two rounds into the man before two more rounds climbed high and right. Quickly he released the trigger to prevent wasting more rounds. The man fell. Oorah.
A whistle and more shouts sounded behind as he slipped into a dark patch of forest. After ten meters, the earth descended at a 45-degree angle, and light penetrated the branches. Further ahead, the trees and ground disappeared. He was on a mountaintop that dropped a hundred meters. Although the land fell sharply near him, the surrounding mountains sloped gently for as far as his eyes could see. The range nearest him was granny apple green, and further out it became purple and wisteria before fading into the blue sky.
Hank scampered across the flat surface of a boulder, and the loose ground underneath caused him to fall into a slide. He tucked his chin to his chest to lessen the chance he’d crack his head on a rock. He came to a stop within a meter of the cliff. He clawed at the ground and crawled away from the edge and back toward the summit. Then he spotted a path, stood, and ran. He gasped for air to fill his rapidly depleting lungs, and his naked feet slipped on more loose dirt, but he kept one hand on his rifle while the other snatched a small tree trunk to steady himself. Chinese voices came closer behind him, causing him to push too hard and tumble again, rocks beating and cutting him.
Voices and whistles sounded, but they didn’t gain on him. They don’t know where I am. Sharp pains throbbed in his bare feet and thighs, and he slowed down a bit so he wouldn’t injure himself more seriously. He tried to move quietly so he wouldn’t alert the men chasing him.
Then the voices from behind became louder. They were headed in his direction. His feet and thighs continued to prickle with pain, but he preferred that kind of pain to what Oxford had planned for him. He picked up his pace. The voices became louder and more excited. His inner voice shouted at him: Go, go, go!
10
Thu led Max and Tom up a mountain through the trees and into the scent of smoke. A couple hundred meters ahead, there was shouting in Chinese, and it sounded like a riot had broken out. Thu moved too slowly. “Hurry,” Max whispered sharply.
Thu picked up his pace, but Max still wasn’t satisfied.
The Chinese shouting continued, followed by the tweet of a whistle.
“What’re they saying?” Max asked.
“They are saying the American, he escaped,” Thu said. “They are chasing him.”
“We found him!” Max said. “He’s going to need our help. We’ve got to get to him fast.”
“Before they do,” Tom added.
Max, Tom, and Thu raced to the perimeter of a clearing in the forest where a cluster of buildings stood. The brothers hurried Thu through what appeared to be the back of a compound. An adrenaline dump and Max’s eagerness to reach their father quickly made the world seem to slow. He wanted to crank on the speed, but he had to move tactically. They would be of no use to Dad if they were dead.
Fifty meters away, next to a shack beside a dirt road, stood a guard with his AK at the ready looking into the woods beside the compound—probably where Dad had escaped to. The guard shifted his attention to Max’s crew. He aimed in their direction. Max aimed, too. The guard fired on full auto. The AK was noisy, and six sonic snaps sounded near Max—his shots were getting nearer.
Max’s heart wanted to hurry, but his mind told him to be efficient—it wasn’t always the fastest gun that won a fight; rather, it was the first kill shot that won. He ignored his heart, planted his feet, and aimed his red dot at the AK wielder’s upper body and shot twice with quick efficiency. The guard dropped like a sack of rice.
Max hustled toward the woods in the direction the guard initially faced and chased after shouting Chinese voices beyond the trees. Thu wasn’t with Max, so he turned around to see where he was. He was between Max and Tom. Max went back, grabbed Thu by the shirt, and gave him a jerk and a growl: “Move your ass before I put a bullet in it.” Then Max turned his attention forward again. He had to reach his father before the Chinese did, while trying not to get his brother and him killed in the process. Babysitting Thu had become a titanic pain in the ass.
Several puffs sounded behind Max, the sound of Tom’s Chinese sound-suppressed submachine gun taking care of business. While Tom protected their flank, Max pressed onward into the trees. Several meters ahead, an armed man wearing baggy clothes turned to face them. Max didn’t slow down, and at such close range, he hardly aimed when he pulled the trigger and stitched the man’s chest.
The ground slanted downward, and Max skidded over dirt and rocks, barely managing to stay on his feet. He landed within a meter of a cliff’s edge and a hundred-meter drop. He let his weapon hang by its sling as he used both hands to scramble up the mountainside. Tom and Thu scrambled, too. They’d made a lot of noise, and as Max regained his footing and turned to face the ridgeline, he spotted a booger eater who was running in their direction. Before Max could ready his weapon, the enemy was already aiming at him. But the booger eater’s feet slid sideways, and rocks beneath him tumbled off the cliff. The enemy slipped and fell. He released his rifle to grasp for the mountain, but he continued to slide. Booger
Eater slipped off the edge with a scream.
“Holy shit!” Max exclaimed. He continued on the path and watched his footing until he passed the spot where the man had fallen.
The trail widened and leveled off, giving more land and foot stability between the mountain and the cliff. Max picked up speed. Faster. He ran around trees and over rocks like rushing water until he reached a trail that cut sideways. He flowed up and down inclines with his blood pumping so chaotically that gravity didn’t seem able to hold him down. The trees, bushes, and mountain became a blur as the path evened out and allowed him to accelerate. He glanced behind and saw Thu on the ground with a bloody spot on his upper body, but Tom was still on his feet—and his eyes hard. Either Tom had plugged Thu or one of the Chinese had, but it didn’t matter now, because the wind was behind Max and his purpose was singular—find Dad.
The trail rose and dipped along the side of the mountain, but Max didn’t slow down. The path disappeared into a clump of trees, and Max blew into the unknown. From behind, Tom’s weapon fired again. Someone must’ve followed them. Tom’s firing stopped, and Max assumed that Tom had done his duty. Max didn’t look back to make sure. Beyond the shadowy trees ahead a group of four men with AKs turned. With their bad haircuts, they appeared like the Three Stooges plus another, but with their weapons pointed in Max’s direction, he took them seriously. He took cover behind a tree. Tom shielded himself behind another tree nearby.
The Four Stooges blasted at Max and Tom, and weighty AK rounds slapped the trees around them, causing puffs of powdered bark. Particles of wood stung Max’s skin. Because he happened to be on the left and Tom on the right, it was understood that Max would take Moe and Larry on the left and Tom would take Curly and Shemp on the right. The Four Stooges were exposed, while Max and Tom had the protection of the trees. Four against two—good frogman odds.
Max leaned out, only exposing enough of his head and body to deliver a shot. His lower body remained protected behind the tree. He popped one round into each of the two enemies, but they didn’t go down. So as to not present the enemy the same target, Max leaned to the opposite side of the tree and opened fire again. He plugged Moe and Larry until they sank to the ground and stayed there.
Autumn Assassins: [#3] A Special Operations Group Thriller Page 7