Enemy Arsenal
The U.S. companies, many of whom had headquarters in Hong Kong due to the relaxed business environment, were a particular affront to Hu, extending their poisonous influence farther into his country. They were so quick to take advantage of what the city had to offer, yet, when they had been truly needed decades ago, there had been no help forthcoming, not from them, nor from anywhere else in the world. It was this terrible failure on their part, and that of other countries, that kept Hu’s constant desire burning deep in his heart, carefully concealed by layers of politeness, business acumen and genial diplomacy. But always, always, there was the voice in the back of his mind, constantly exhorting him. His grandmother had selected his middle name, Ji, meaning to remember or keep in mind, and that was exactly what he had done all these long years.
Never forget...never forgive...
Throughout his years growing up, all through building his business over the decades, Hu had never forgotten. And now, with the first part of his plan set in motion, he was only a few days away from sending a truly divine wind down upon the complacent fools and fatuous men and women that wasted their lives in meaningless busywork—soon...it would all fall into place.
The soft whoosh of the doors to his private elevator broke through Hu’s reverie.
His personal secretary, Zheng Rong, walked to his side. Dressed in a tailored navy blue pinstripe business suit jacket and trousers, she had served him faithfully for the past five years without hesitation. Stopping three feet away, she bowed, a gesture he returned with respect, although he didn’t turn from his contemplation of the harbor.
“Stage one is complete, sir. The decoy vessel is under our control.”
“Were there any casualties?”
There was the barest pause before her reply made his head swivel in her direction. “Regrettably, yes. The men tasked to take the ship were overzealous during the assault. One man was killed, two wounded, and a woman was violated before she and the others were set adrift as originally ordered.”
Hu clucked his tongue. “Have the perpetrators been identified?”
“Yes. The death came at the hands of a young boy, who was used as a distraction. I have questioned him myself, and believe him when he says it was an accident. As for the other, he is downstairs, should you wish to speak with him yourself.”
Hu considered the offer, then turned to face her. “Take me to him. I would see this animal before he is removed from this earth.” Only the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his anger.
Zheng turned and led him back to the elevator, which was just large enough to hold both of them comfortably. The ride down was noiseless, descending into the sublevels below the building, where Hu had paid a princely sum in order to have a private garage with twenty-four-hour street access. For a man in his position, the ability to come and go unnoticed was more important than many would think.
At this time of night, there was only one vehicle in the private lot, a slate-gray Range Rover that barely rocked back and forth on its springs as the prisoner inside struggled to escape. From where he stood, Hu could barely hear the muffled thuds as the captive man slammed against the interior.
“My apologies, sir, he awoke sooner than expected.”
“No, that is all right. I would look into his eyes before you remove him.” Hu led the way, walking forward with a bare whisper of his virgin-wool trousers. He paused at the back door of the luxury SUV, waiting for Zheng to open it.
When the door rose, the man inside froze, caught in the act of hammering his bare feet against the back window glass. Gagged and bound hand and foot, he had worked himself into a sweat, the foul odor making Hu’s nose wrinkle.
“This will be cleaned once the cargo is removed.”
The man tried to catch Hu’s eyes with his own panicked ones, their normal almond shape distended by fear into wide, white ovals, marred by a swelling bruise under one. His split and puffy lips writhed as he tried to speak around the gag, the muffled pleas reduced to guttural grunts and cries.
“I would have rewarded you handsomely, enough to care for your entire family for years. Yet you let your base desires get the best of you during this first, critical operation.” Hu leaned close to the man’s blanched face. “And if I cannot trust you to carry out your orders on this simple task, then I cannot employ you any longer. But since you know too much about what I have planned for this city and the rest of the world, I regret to inform you that your termination must be permanent.”
Hearing his doom, the captive man lashed out with his head, trying to butt Hu in the face. A blurred form rushed in and slammed the man into the backs of the third-row seats. Zheng retreated just as quickly, her open palm out, ready to defend or attack as needed.
Hu shook his head sadly. Now, when he had spent so long preparing to put his plan into motion, he couldn’t afford any action—by himself or others—that would endanger the operation he had been planning for half his life. “It is foolish actions such as this that can
endanger everything we have worked for. Have him
removed as an example to the others that this sort of base behavior will not be tolerated. I trust you will come up with a suitable message for them.”
Zheng smiled, her expression devoid of any humor or warmth. “Yes, sir. I have just the right lesson planned. They won’t forget it, and he certainly won’t miss what I will use to drive the point home.” She closed the door on the gasping, crying man, his last mumbled pleas for what Hu assumed were mercy falling on deaf ears.
“Make sure he is never found.”
“Of course, sir.”
“When will we be ready to begin the second phase?”
“Once the lesson has been delivered, then it is a matter of locating the right vessels to commandeer. The men will need some time aboard to set the devices to ensure their proper destruction.”
“Very good, you will keep me informed as to their progress. Also, is the diversionary force ready to go on my orders?”
“Yes, sir, their fee to the event has been handled through one of our shell corporations. There is nothing tying it back to us. They are encamped in the desert thirty kilometers south of Tiznit, and are awaiting the word to move out.”
“Excellent. Please inform my pilot that his services will not be needed. I’ll be resting here tonight. I will see you in the morning.”
Zheng bowed again. “As you wish.” She went to the driver’s side of the SUV while Hu walked back to the elevator to return to his office—and the continued contemplation of the pit that was Hong Kong around him, and how best to cleanse it and the others complicit in a betrayal that stretched back more than half a century.
CHAPTER THREE
Eight hours later, Bolan, James and their prize were at Stony Man Farm, in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Jack Grimaldi had flown them out of John Wayne Airport on a red-eye back east, resulting in them enjoying a cup of real coffee—not Kurtzman’s superstrong black swill—and watching the sun come up over the fog-shrouded peaks.
Bolan had decided to spirit Araña back to Stony Man Farm to avoid any federal entanglements. The Executioner and James decided to check out leads the cyberteam had before they began questioning their informant. The two men heard a whoop just as they walked into the computer room in the Annex.
“What do ya think that’s about?” Calvin James asked.
“Akira either found the latest bootleg he’d been looking for, or he’s actually on to something. Only one way to find out.”
Akira Tokaido was one of Stony Man’s youngest members. He was also its best computer hacker, slipping in and out of foreign government mainframes, through criminal syndicate firewalls and anywhere else intel was needed from cyberspace.
But when Bolan and James walked to Tokaido’s workstation, his clenched fists weren’t raised in triumph at his latest sneak-and-peek, nor was he crowing about his success to anyone within earshot. Instead, his dark brown eyes were glued to a large monitor, his fingers blurred over the keyboard.
“Heard you hollerin’ in the hallway. What’s up?” James asked.
Tokaido didn’t take his eyes off the screen as he replied. “Shouted too soon. It’s probably just a false alarm. For a second, I thought I’d found a link to the Sale in the Sands.”
The name got both Bolan’s and James’s attention right away. Throughout the world, there were certain black-market events that Stony Man was constantly on the lookout for. The “Sale in the Sands” was one of them—a huge assembly of black-market weapon dealers that got together every other year to sell weapons, espionage technology, engineering and systems knowledge and entire mercenary groups to the right bidder. It had been on Bolan’s list to check out for some time, but either other more pressing ops had come up at the same time, or the Farm had followed artfully disguised trails that had led them nowhere.
“Why do you think it’s a no-go?” Bolan asked as he leaned down to survey the screen.
Tokaido leaned back and interlaced his hands behind his head. “Because, how would a low-life L.A. gangbanger get access to the triple-encrypted website that allows potential attendees access and the chance to put down their fifty-thousand-dollar advance reservation fee?”
“Fifty grand?” James whistled. “Damn, that’s one exclusive club.”
“That’s not the half of it, brother.” Tokaido tapped more keys. “From what I can tell, that’s only half of what someone needs to pony up to attend this little party.”
“Wait a sec—you’re telling me Araña had access to the site, that he was in, for all intents and purposes?” Bolan asked.
“Near as I can tell, yes. I’ve been tracking down every bit of conversation he’s had regarding this, and from what I’ve gathered, MS-13 was planning to attend. They’d put down their money, and were awaiting confirmation of their account being created, as well as the second part of the password to wire the second half.”
Bolan and James exchanged glances. “In for fifty grand, in for a hundred,” the lithe black man said.
“Akira, I assume you can masquerade as Araña and finish the transaction?”
“Well, I had already begun setting up a slave system on his smartphone to see just how far down the rabbit hole I could go. I was just waiting for authorization—”
“Which you just got.” Bolan straightened as his own cell phone buzzed. “Stay on this, and gather as much intel as possible. Cal, notify Phoenix to be on standby. If it’s going down in the next few days, we may have to scramble to get wherever it is on time.” He flipped his cell open. “Yeah.”
“It’s Hal.” Bolan’s long-time colleague and friend usually sounded either disgruntled, disgusted or dyspeptic, but this time his voice carried none of those overtones. Rather, Hal Brognola’s voice carried an undercurrent Bolan had hardly ever heard—nervousness.
“Are you all right?” Bolan asked.
“Yeah, everything in Foggy Bottom is as per usual—gridlocked and logjammed. Striker, I have a favor to ask you. How soon can you get to JFK?”
“Jack’s sacked out, but Charlie’s available. What’s this about?”
“I can’t talk about it like this, even over a secure line. Just get there as soon as you can, and call me. I’ll direct you the rest of the way once you’ve landed in New York City.”
“Hal—” Bolan turned away from the other men and lowered his voice “—you’re all right?”
“Yeah, this has to do with the circles I run in. Just get up here, would you? It would mean a lot to me.”
“I’m on my way.” Bolan hung up and speed-dialed Charlie Mott, Stony Man’s second pilot. “Charlie...yeah, it’s me...prep the jet for a flight to JFK...leaving in the next hour...thanks.”
James was watching him as he headed for the door. “What’s up?”
“Hal needs me in NYC. I want you to take over Araña’s
interrogation. Find out everything he knows about the Sale in the Sands, and anything else MS-13’s up to. I’ll call in once I’m in New York.”
“You got it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Xiang Po bolted upright in the bed, the soft cotton sheets puddling around his body as he choked off his shout of fear. Heart hammering in his chest, he looked in every corner of the small stateroom, searching for the furious, black-haired ghost that had been crawling after him, its bloody hands reaching for him from beyond the grave....
A dream—it was only a dream, he thought. He cocked an ear, listening for any sign that his outburst might have been heard by the other pirates. When no fist hammered on the door, he leaned back against the plush headboard and sighed in relief. He stared at the opulent room he’d been given as a reward for his part in taking over the yacht, taking in the soft carpet, the real wooden furniture, the faint smell of some kind of floral fragrance that had filled the room when he had first entered. All of this, as well as a wonder he had scarcely believed when he had first set eyes on it.
Just thinking about it made him shiver in anticipation. Xiang slipped out of bed, carefully drawing up the covers again—it would be a crime to leave such a luxurious abode unkempt. He grinned as he thought about the first night they had stayed aboard, when he had tossed and turned on the soft mattress, unused to such comfort, until he had wrapped himself in the topsheet and slept on the floor, which had still been more comfortable than any other bed he’d ever been in. Over the next few days, he had moved to the bed, and his rest had never been so peaceful—except for the damn dreams.
He crossed to the private bathroom, marveling again at how his bare, callused feet sank into the soft, ivory-colored carpet. Sliding open the narrow door, he gazed at the object of his desire—the small, tiled shower stall. When Xiang had first found it, he had stayed under the fresh, clean spray for fifteen minutes, using up almost all of the water on the boat. The other pirates had wanted to beat him for his mistake, but their leader, Lee Ming, had instead made him responsible for maintaining the desalinization system for the yacht as long as they were on board, which he had done scrupulously ever since. Xiang had overheard a conversation between Lee and another pirate, and learned that they might remain onboard for as long as a week, maybe ten days. It wasn’t their normal operating procedure, but was to be followed until the next phase of their plan was to be put into motion. He didn’t mind; this was the best he’d ever had it in all of his twelve years.
At least he thought he was about twelve years old; the truth was, he had no idea of his birthday, or where he had been born, or who his parents were. The pirate life was all he’d ever known, and he did what he had to do to survive among this band of criminals.
In the shower, he had just gotten the water adjusted to his comfort when a heavy fist pounded on the door. “Xiang! Where’s breakfast?” a familiar voice demanded in guttural Cantonese.
“Shit!” The boy turned the water off and grabbed the nearest towel, wiping himself down and leaping for his clothes. Scrambling into them, he reached for the door just as the fist hammered on it again, making the entire frame shake.
“Coming!” He slid the door open to see the leering face of Guong Ho staring down at him, making Xiang’s buttocks clench involuntarily. “I’d better get up there, otherwise the others will be mad at me, too.” He tried to slip by the stocky, muscular man, but was stopped by a thick arm blocking his way.
“Why the rush, Po?” The man’s stubby fingers combed through the boy’s wet hair. “You look so much better cleaned up.”
Xiang ducked under his arm. “You asked where breakfast was. I need to get to the galley to make it.”
The large man hip-checked him into the wall with surprising agility. His thick fingers grabbed Xiang’s neck as he leaned close to the boy. “You’d better get back into that bed if you know what’s good for you—”
“Po? Ho? What’s going on down there? Where’s our meal?” A strong voice carried down the hallway. Guong immediately straightened and shoved Xiang ahead of him.
“I’m rousting this lazybones right now. Get moving, you!” His hand thudded between Xiang’s shoulder blades, staggering the boy and almost sending him to the marble floor. “This isn’t over, little one,” he hissed under his breath as he followed Xiang to the galley entrance.
“Easy, Ho, you don’t want to injure our cook. Let’s go, Po, everyone is hungry and waiting.” Although their leader’s voice was pleasant enough, his face was all hard, lean planes, with a hooked beak of a nose under glittering black eyes. Xiang knew firsthand that his tone was the only soft thing about him. Lee Ming had killed their previous leader a year ago, and since then had mercilessly trained the small band of pirates to take on larger ships and cargo. He was the one who had come up with the decoy idea, which had worked perfectly for several hijackings—at least, until this last time.
Xiang slid past the pirate leader, shoulders tensed in expectation of a blow, but the man let him pass without interference. Once immaculate and gleaming, the kitchen and its appliances were filthy from the rest of the men coming and going at all hours of the day, leaving rotting food scraps and dirty dishes and bowls everywhere in their wake. The fetid smell made him gag, and he opened the small porthole window to get some fresh air in, then turned on the oven fan to try to clear the stench. With a sigh, Xiang realized he’d let things go unattended here for too long. He’d have to clean the whole area from top to bottom, before it could get any worse.
He checked the walk-in refrigerator, which contained supplies for twice the number of people currently on board, and grabbed a dozen and a half eggs, four pounds of peeled shrimp, crisp bean sprouts, fish sauce and everything else he needed for a giant batch of spicy egg foo yung with shrimp, a quick yet filling meal that would satisfy the chorus of growling stomachs outside.
For the next ten minutes, Xiang lost himself in the ritual of cooking, one of the few things he truly enjoyed, having picked it up from the last leader of their group. The soothing cadence of cracking, chopping and whisking was almost able to distract him from the shocked look of wide-eyed pain on the American’s face when the bullet had hit him, the man’s face still haunting his sleep. Soon the savory smell of cooking egg and shrimp filled the galley, overlying the stink of spoiled food. Xiang also heated plenty of water for tea, finding the last of the leaves in a container underneath the small galley table.
When it was finished, Xiang scooped them into two large bowls—the last clean ones he could find, and reheated the last of the scallion pancakes he’d made the previous night, which had somehow escaped the ravenous men’s notice. Piling everything on a large tray, along with bowls, cups and chopsticks, he carefully carried it out to the rear sundeck, where the men had gathered to eat. The tray was so heavy it made his arms shake, but Xiang didn’t complain or stop moving for a moment, knowing that his only option was to make it to the table with his burden intact.
He emerged from the hallway into a bright morning, with a canopy covering the rear area to ward off the already blazing sun. Out here, the smell of the savory breakfast was overpowered by the salt tang of the ocean. Xiang didn’t look around, but kept his eyes on his goal—the table. He was only concerned once, when Guong Ho feinted as if he was going to rise and come after him. His movement was noticed by Lee, who frowned.
“Don’t make the boy drop our breakfast, Ho, otherwise we’ll have to make you cook, and everyone knows what a lousy chef you are!”
The rest of the pirates roared with laughter while Guong hunkered down in his chair, flushed and glowering. Xiang set the platter down, and the men swarmed over the food like starving sharks, scooping out large portions with their bowls and eating with the chopsticks, or just their fingers. After glaring at Xiang with a dark stare that promised revenge for the perceived insult, Guong Ho dug in, as well.
Xiang stood away from the table, waiting for the men to finish. He noticed that almost all of them had raided the closets of the former occupants. Since the clothes were American, they had been modified, with khaki and linen pant legs rolled up, and many sleeves shortened by a knife blade. Only Lee Ming wore clothes that could even be considered appropriate, having modified the captain’s uniform to fit his slender frame. Xiang frowned. The makeshift outfits could fool a passing ship, but anyone coming onboard would see through the poor disguises in an instant. Normally they sold a ship after stripping it of anything valuable in a few days, but since they were staying this time, the danger increased with every day they remained onboard. Xiang knew he couldn’t say anything about it, since Lee would take that as an affront to his leadership. He’d just have to be vigilant about having an escape route open in case they were caught.
The men had just about finished their breakfasts, leaning back and belching in satisfaction, exchanging smiles and jibes about how much each other had eaten. Xiang waited for Lee to finish, knowing the harsh penalty for attempting to clear the table before their leader was done, when one of the men assigned to monitor the radio walked out of the communications room.
“The demon woman has contacted us—she is coming in for a meeting.”
Xiang was secretly pleased at seeing Lee stiffen slightly upon hearing the message. So, there were people even he feared, the boy thought. It was easy to see why, however. A visit from the demon woman was always fraught with peril. The last time, she’d taken Lee aside for a whispered conversation, then he had pointed out Gouhou Cheng and Xiang. She had sternly interrogated Xiang about the events during the hijacking and he’d done his best to assure her that his shooting the man had been an accident. But she had taken Gouhou away with her. That had been two days ago, and they hadn’t heard anything about or from him since.
Lee let his chopsticks clatter on the table. “When?”
“She will be here in ten minutes. She said all of us should be here on the deck when she arrives.”
“That stuck-up bitch.” Lee’s nostrils flared, and Xiang knew his anger had just risen another notch. Their leader hated kowtowing to the woman, but he swallowed his pride and followed her orders so that the pirates could earn the promised reward for all of this work, a prize far beyond stealing ships, even ones such as this. Xiang had no idea what was necessary to obtain it, but Lee, in one of his rare, expansive moods after drinking a half-bottle of wine one evening, had hinted that it would be enough to let them quit the pirate life forever, to enable them to live like normal people for a change. That was why he’d pushed the men so hard to do their assigned jobs well, so that no one would imperil their chance to leave this life behind.
“Xiang! Clear this mess away. The rest of you, go clean yourselves up. We must look presentable when she arrives.”
The boy jumped to obey, stacking the bowls and loading them onto the tray. Picking it up, he carried his pile into the galley, stacking them in the sink and filling it with hot water to soak them. He took a quick look at himself in the mirror, patting his hair down with water, then scurried back on deck, making sure to stay as close to Lee Ming and as far from Guong Ho as possible.
The rumbling throb of a powerboat could now be heard reverberating over the calm ocean, and Xiang looked off the port side to see a slim, forty-five-foot-long cigarette boat approaching, cutting through the water like a sleek, silver-gray dolphin. It turned sharply toward the yacht, powering down as it closed in. Lee Ming nodded for two men to meet the powerboat. A few minutes later, the demon woman stepped aboard.
Xiang, along with the rest of the men, shifted uneasily in her presence. She was impeccably dressed in a western-style suit, with a cream silk blouse under matching dark pinstriped blazer and pants. Despite the heat, she didn’t sweat, and her hair was restrained in what looked like an ivory holder and draped her left shoulder. She carried a small, alligator-skin briefcase in her right hand. Her eyes were concealed behind dark blue designer sunglasses that lent her face an alien, insectile quality. Whenever he saw her, a strange mixture of feelings cascaded over Xiang: fear and anger and another emotion that he couldn’t quite identify.