Dragon Head

by James Houston Turner

  With her nose bleeding from Alpha’s head-butt, Ginie struggled to her feet and wobbled unsteadily for a moment. In the harsh wash of the SUV’s headlights, she could see a rifle laying on the ground, with Zak and Bravo fighting to reach it with a crawling, punching, tug of war.

  Ginie ran over, picked up the rifle and jumped back, wondering what to do. She had never fired any kind of a weapon, much less an assault rifle.

  Nearby, on the hood of the SUV, a cell phone kept ringing and ringing.

  Ginie looked toward the phone just as Bravo elbowed Zak in the face, rolled free, and pushed himself to his feet. When Ginie saw Bravo charge toward her, she lifted the rifle and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Ginie looked down at the rifle in her hands. What was wrong? She tried pulling the trigger again.

  Nothing.

  Bravo arrived and punched Ginie in the face. Blood flew from her nose and she fell backward to the ground, leaving the rifle in Bravo’s hands. Flipping the safety, Bravo spun to his right and fired a sweeping burst of gunfire at Zak, who was rushing him like an angry water buffalo.

  Most of the fusillade missed.

  Some of it did not.

  And with a gargling gasp, Zak collapsed to his knees and toppled facedown into the dirt.

  CHAPTER 74

  “Why isn’t Alpha answering?” muttered Gustaves, ending the call. “Keep trying while I try Bravo,” she instructed Becka while dialing Bravo’s number, which was the third number on Becka’s notepad screen.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Becka replied just as the motorcade of black Suburbans sped around a corner.

  Using the Suburban’s scrambler phone, Becka dialed Alpha again. Moments later, in a clearing in the California foothills of the high Sierra mountains, two cell phones began humming and vibrating on the hood of the SUV.

  No one heard the vibrating hums amid all the noise. That’s because Ginie was crying from having just had her nose broken again, while Emily was screaming with rage, and Bravo had just gunned down Zak.

  Bravo could see Alpha struggling to break free. He was thrashing around on the ground and Babikov’s wife was behind him with her zip-tied hands around his neck and her knee jammed in his back, pulling with all of her strength. Without a doubt, Alpha was stronger than Babikov’s wife. But Babikov’s wife had not only punched him in the groin, but had the additional advantage of position and adrenalin. Alpha was in fight-or-flight mode. Babikov’s wife was in an I-will-kill-you-at-all-costs mode, with the added anguish of having just seen her husband gunned down powering her like a locomotive.

  Having used all of his ammunition on Babikov, Bravo popped the empty magazine from his M4A1 assault rifle, which was an upgraded lighter-weight version of the M16A2. Capable of firing over nine hundred rounds per minute, the M4A1 could empty its thirty-round magazine in two seconds, which is what had just happened with Zak.

  Bravo began fumbling for the spare magazine located in the pocket of his cargo pants.

  Seeing Bravo having trouble with his rifle, Emily released her chokehold slightly. This allowed Alpha to yank forward in an attempt to throw Emily off his back. But rather than yanking back again, Emily allowed herself to be flipped. When she did, she looped her wrists up off his head, clenched her hands into fists, and began hammering Alpha in the nose. Blood burst from Alpha’s nostrils and he grabbed his face.

  And in one smooth motion, Emily unsnapped the strap on Alpha’s holster and yanked out his pistol. Jumping to her feet, she took aim just as Bravo cocked his weapon and pulled the trigger, cutting Emily down where she stood.

  With more echoes of gunfire echoing away into the night, Emily wobbled for a brief instant before collapsing like an imploded building.

  “No!” screamed Ginie. She crawled over to Emily and began cradling her bleeding body.

  Gasping for air, Alpha grabbed his pistol out of Emily’s hand and staggered to Bravo’s side just as Bravo took aim at Ginie.

  “You okay?” asked Bravo.

  Alpha nodded. “Get rid of the bitch.”

  Calling on every ounce of strength remaining in his body, Zak climbed awkwardly to his feet.

  The sound of gunfire had snapped open Zak’s eyelids and he had raised his head in time to see his wife fall to the earth in a hushed moment of silence. The shock, the horror, and the agony of seeing Emily gunned down filled Zak with uncontrollable rage. It was a rage he had vowed to leave behind when he asked God to forever change him from a man of violence to a man of peace, and over the years, he had been privileged to experience God’s answer to that prayer at the Quiet Waters community center. Lives had been saved, a community had been revived, the poor had been fed. What a joy it had been.

  But men of peace sometimes needed to become men of war, and now was one of those times.

  Give me strength this one last time, Zak prayed.

  Bravo did not see Zak coming. He was focused on Ginie, who was sitting in the dirt, sobbing, with Emily’s head in her lap.

  Fish in a barrel, thought Bravo just as Zak drove his shoulder into the small of Bravo’s back, sending both of them sprawling to the ground.

  The blow caused Bravo’s spine to bend forward, which meant his upper body arched backward, which caused his aim to lift just as he pulled the trigger and sent a blast of gunfire singing harmlessly away into the night.

  Alpha didn’t see the incident. His back was to Bravo because he had stepped over to the SUV to see who was calling. But he did hear the incident when Bravo pulled the trigger, and, spinning around, he saw Zak and Bravo tumble into the open grave, where Zak reared up and began punching Bravo in the face. Tears were streaming down Zak’s face and his chest was saturated with blood.

  The first of Zak’s blows caught Bravo by surprise. He had landed on his back and Zak had landed on top of him, where he began punching Bravo in the face. The first blow broke Bravo’s nose in one direction. The second blow broke it in the other direction. But Zak was exhausted and weak, and Bravo quickly threw him off, grabbed his assault rifle, and fired.

  “Bravo, don’t!” shouted Alpha, running toward Bravo with the phone just as Bravo pulled the trigger for a quick burst before Alpha’s shouting caused him to stop. And with the acrid odor of spent ammunition hanging in the air, he hopped up out of the grave.

  “It’s Congresswoman Gustaves, on behalf of the president,” Alpha said, holding out the phone. “We’re to release our prisoners immediately.”

  “Call Shaw. Ask him what’s going on.”

  “I think you should take this call.”

  Bravo hesitated, then accepted the phone and put it to his ear. “Who is this?” he demanded.

  From the back seat of her Suburban, Gustaves identified herself, then recited the same codeword she had used with Alpha and Zulu. She then asked him if he recognized that codeword. Bravo said that he did. Gustaves told Bravo that if her new orders were not obeyed to the letter, or if a call was placed to Angus Shaw, whose telephone lines were being monitored, Bravo would spend the rest of his life in prison. Was that clear? Bravo said that it was. Gustaves then asked for an update on the status of their prisoners.

  Bravo took a deep breath and said, “Two dead, ma’am. One alive.”

  “Babikov?”

  “Dead, along with his wife. The girl, Ginie Piat, is alive.”

  A long moment of silence ensued. Finally, Gustaves told Bravo to lay the bodies together in a secure location, covered and protected, along with his cell phone, which would guide a clean-up team to their exact location. She then ordered Bravo and Alpha to escort Ms. Piat to the Marine Corps Mountain Warfare Training Center south of Lake Tahoe.

  “When you get there,” said Gustaves, “ask for Major Patterson. Disobey or try and run, and things will get very nasty.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Understood.”

  After clicking off, Gustaves stared out the window of her Suburban. The headlights of the three speeding Suburbans illuminated the grass along each side the pavement, maki
ng the scenery appear as little more than a blur, although Gustaves was not paying attention. Her attention was on the tragic and pointless deaths of Babikov and his wife at the hands of Angus Shaw. She had never met Babikov, but had heard

  Talanov speak fondly of his oldest and dearest friend.

  The loss of a best friend was up there with the loss of a spouse, which she knew all too well. She thought briefly of her husband, Master Sergeant Mike Gustaves, who died years ago in a firefight with the Taliban while trying to keep a girls school from being overrun. He had ordered his unit to get the girls to safety while he held off the enemy. His men came back for him, of course, but it was too late. One dead Marine. Nineteen dead Taliban. Twenty-three girls and two teachers, alive. Seven of the girls – all young women now – attended university in the United States, and not a week went by that one of them did not text or email to ask how she was doing.

  The thought of Mike’s sacrifice brought a tear to Gustaves’ eye. It was an ache that never went away.

  “We’re here, ma’am,” the driver said as the Suburban began to slow. Visible in the high beams ahead was a wall of shrubbery and trees. In a gap in that wall of green was a decorative wrought-iron gate.

  Gustaves knew Shaw had his own team of security guards. They were housed in an annex at the far end of the garage. Two of the guards were always on active patrol, while a third guard slept, and a fourth guard watched over a bank of monitors connected to security cameras and other electronic sensors blanketing the grounds.

  Becka entered an override code on her notepad that remotely opened the gates. Seconds later, the motorcade raced up the curving drive and stopped in front of Shaw’s mansion. When they arrived, motion sensors were triggered and floodlights illuminated a wide verandah and soaring white Colonial columns.

  The doors of the Suburbans flew open and more than a dozen heavily armed agents spilled out just as one of the security guards hurried out of the darkness with his gun drawn. When he saw the agents were FBI, he dropped his gun and raised his hands.

  The agents commanded him to move away from the gun and lie face down in the grass, where he was quickly zip-tied and hoisted to his feet.

  Purdue got out and used hand signals to direct half of his agents to secure the perimeter and confine all of Shaw’s guards to the guard house. Taking the zip-tied guard with them, the agents disappeared into the darkness. Seconds later, confirmation of containment was received.

  Stepping out of her vehicle, Gustaves joined Purdue at the bottom of the steps leading up to the verandah.

  “Madam Congresswoman, the honor is yours,” said Purdue, gesturing Gustaves toward the front door.

  With a smile of satisfaction, Gustaves led the way up the steps to the front door, where she began ringing the bell.

  Inside the house, Shaw cinched his bathrobe and descended the curving stairs. He had been awakened by the activated porch lights and presence of three government Suburbans parked outside with their light bars flashing. He had received no word of an emergency and wondered what was going on. Surely the president would have let him know if another midair collision had occurred. Whatever the reason, it was important, although the incessant ringing of the bell meant someone was going to get fired.

  Approaching the door, Shaw punched several numbers on a keypad and opened the door. “What the hell do you think you’re—” he began, then stopping when he saw Gustaves, Purdue, and four heavily armed agents staring back at him. “Diane? Ed? What’s this about?”

  “Honey?” Shaw’s wife called out from the top of the stairs.

  Shaw didn’t answer or even look up at her. He was watching Gustaves work the screen of her cell phone. When Gustaves was finished, she held it up for Shaw to hear. On the screen was Shaw’s photo of Zak, Ginie, and Emily kneeling before an open grave.

  “Like the photo I sent?” the recording began. “Open grave . . . Babikov and his lovely wife . . .”

  By the end of the recording, the color had drained from Shaw’s face.

  “I’m also here to inform you,” Gustaves said, “that your chief-of-staff, Adam Schiller, has been taken into custody on charges of organizing the assassination attempt on me at the Monocle. Mr. Schiller, who himself recorded his conversations with you, has furnished proof that I think a jury will find very interesting at your trial, which, when taken in concert with what we just heard . . .”

  Gustaves looked over at Purdue and nodded.

  Purdue stepped forward with a pair of chrome handcuffs, took Shaw by the arm, and rotated him around. “Angus Shaw, you have the right to remain silent . . .”

  CHAPTER 75

  The second unfolding incident involved Talanov, who was seated at a table in Vincenzo’s Ristorante in Hong Kong. Wilcox had just called to say he had been released and that Shaw was now in custody. Talanov asked how Zak and the women were doing but Wilcox said he didn’t know, that Gustaves told him she didn’t have time to talk, although presumably they were okay. Wilcox then informed Talanov that the kids were safely with Alice and that his plan was being implemented.

  Here’s hoping I can pull this off, thought Talanov just as Sofia and Straw Sandal stormed in.

  The Italian restaurant Talanov had picked was clean and contemporary, with lots of wood paneling and small tables covered with white tablecloths. To one side of the restaurant was a bar, with shelves of liquor bottles set against a mirrored wall. On the other side was a staircase that led to a second floor dining room. Beneath the staircase was a section of crisscrossed shelves filled with bottles of wine. At the rear of the restaurant was a door that led into the kitchen.

  The restaurant was mostly empty, and Talanov was casually looking over a menu when Sofia and Straw Sandal strode over to him. Straw Sandal was holding her phone in front of her. On the screen was a blinking dot.

  “I love Italian food, don’t you?” Talanov asked rhetorically. “Olive oil and fresh herbs in a thick tomato sauce that’s been cooking all night. Beats the hell out of watery noodles.” He smiled up at Sofia, who was scanning the restaurant, her pistol held discreetly by her thigh. “I presume you’re looking for the kids? They’re smart, those two, so I thought it best to send them away since we did indeed find your money and they alone have the PIN.”

  Straw Sandal and Sofia exchanged glances.

  “That’s right,” said Talanov in a friendly tone. “I found your money, but, like I said, the kids have the PIN. If that confuses you, allow me to explain. No PIN, no transfer, simple as that. For the record, the kids have instructions not to make that transfer until they know I’m safe.”

  Sofia aimed her pistol directly at Talanov’s face just as a waiter came out of the kitchen, saw what was happening, and vanished back into the kitchen, where it suddenly grew quiet.

  “I should probably remind you what Dragon Head said,” Talanov remarked. “I give you the money. You give me Su Yin. And you leave us alone and unharmed. That was our deal.” He moved his focus to Straw Sandal. “I presume we still have a deal?”

  “No deal until we get our money,” snapped Sofia.

  “Which I am about to give you,” Talanov replied. “But not until you lower that gun. Unless, of course, that famous Shí bèi code of honor is nothing but a lie.”

  By now, Sofia’s hand was quivering with rage.

  Straw Sandal placed her hand on Sofia’s gun and lowered it. “Keep your word,” Straw Sandal said curtly. “We keep ours.”

  Talanov smiled and stood. “Then it looks like everybody wins,” he said, nodding respectfully at Straw Sandal, then looking coldly at Sofia. “Except you, perhaps. But we can always settle that later.” To Straw Sandal: “See you in an hour, when I pick up Su Yin.”

  “Where is money?” Straw Sandal demanded.

  “If I told you that, you wouldn’t need me, now, would you? Don’t worry. I’ll make the transfer.”

  “Make transfer here.”

  “I don’t think so. Once the transfer is complete, you’ll get an email conf
irmation.”

  After dropping some cash on the table, Talanov left the restaurant.

  With her breaths coming out as angry gusts, Sofia stormed after Talanov.

  Straw Sandal caught her at the front door. “Let him go. We keep our word.”

  Sofia pushed past Straw Sandal and out the front door in time to see Talanov disappear around a corner. Running after him, she reached the corner just as Talanov climbed on the back of a motorcycle that had been waiting and raced away with an accelerating whine.

  Sofia ran back to where Straw Sandal was waiting. “Do you still have him on GPS?”

  “Yes,” answered Straw Sandal, showing Sofia the blinking green dot.

  Grabbing the phone, Sofia ran to her motor scooter parked near the entrance to the restaurant. Two boys were admiring it, but when they saw Sofia’s pistol, they hurried away.

  By now, Talanov was more than two blocks away. “They won’t be far behind,” he told Liena Zhang, the driver. A young officer with the CIB, Liena was dressed in black leather riding gear and a shiny black helmet.

  “No worries,” said Liena. “Hang on.”

  When Liena accelerated, Talanov tightened his grip on her waist. At the end of the block they banked right and took the corner, then banked left and took another corner before Liena opened the throttle up all the way, sending them forward like a bullet between cars that were speeding along the street.

  “Does Alice know you drive like this?” yelled Talanov over the sound of the wind rushing past them.

  “You should see the way she drives. And you had better not tell her I said that.”

  Within five minutes, Liena downshifted and paused briefly in front of a twenty-story apartment building.

  Talanov jumped off and handed Liena his phone. “Thanks for helping me out.”

  “I’ll take them on a wild tour of the city, then remove the battery and return the phone to Alice,” Liena replied, slipping the phone in her pocket. And with that, she roared away.