Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (48 page)

Read Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 Online

Authors: Ronie Kendig

“Lee is dead. He died honorably, fighting. He did not surrender.”

“He has always been a warrior. You could learn from him, Kiew.”

“We land in two hours,” Kiew said.

Jin stilled. Glanced at the statue on the pedestal draped in red silk. He pivoted, looking back to the god in the foyer. Then his pulse slowed as his gaze traced the other statue in front of the fire pit, also covered in crimson. The mirror above the mantel had been turned. “No!” He dropped the phone and keys, hurrying toward the bedrooms.
“Māma!”

His heart beat harder with each step, with each statue of the gods draped in red cloth. The mirrors turned so a soul could not escape.

The maid stood outside his mother’s bedroom door, hands clasped, gaze down. “I am sorry, Mr. Meng-Li.”

He threw open the door and ignored the maid’s gasp. Rushed to his mom’s bedside, where she lay in quiet repose, her frail body wrapped in muslin to keep her soul intact. Her face protected.

He reached for it, to rip away the veil, to break this nightmarish curse that had consumed his life. “No,” he breathed. “No, Māaama!” He clung to her, feeling her brittle bones beneath his hands. “Come back to me. You must see me win! You must see what Father began and I finished!”

But she did not answer. Did not move. Did not breathe.

“Please!” Tears choked him. It was not good for him to cry. It was not right, in front of others.

“Sir,” came a soft voice. “You should—”

“Get out!” Spinning as he rose to his feet, Jin shouted. “Leave me. Lock the doors. Nobody comes in!”

The maid fumbled backward, her small eyes wide.

“Get. Out!”

She sprinted down the hall.

Pulling himself together, Jin reached for the doors. Closed them. Secured the locks. He rested his head against the mahogany and let his eyes slide shut. How could the gods do this to him? The family gods who had served his mother? The ones that had carried him this far to avenge and honor his father?

He moved to the armchair and eased himself onto the cushion, staring at her ghostlike form.

This was not supposed to happen. She was not supposed to leave him before his plan had been fulfilled. She needed to see him succeed, needed to see all that his father—her husband—had worked to achieve come to life.

In that dark hour as he sat alone, Jin promised himself he would visit on the Americans tenfold what they’d done to his father or die trying.

When he emerged, he knew not how long he’d sat with his mother, but it must have been at least two hours.

Kiew stood before him, her face carrying the pain he bore in his heart. “She is…” She started forward. “I am so sorry. She was a wonderful woman.”

Jin said nothing of his mother. “You have the codes?”

“Should you take time to mourn—?”

“Do not think to tell me what I should do.”

“Forgive me, I am not. I only meant—I know you want to honor her—”

“I grow tired of your attempts to ply me to your will, Kiew.”

She drew back. “No, you misunderstand.”

“It is you who does not understand, my pearl.” He sensed his man behind him. “I’ve allowed you to roam free too long, you who would tear me down from within.”

Kiew shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was there at the fund-raiser. I got the codes.”

Jin sneered. “The wrong codes. Do you think I am so stupid that I do not know the codes are the wrong ones?”

“No,” she said, holding out a piece of paper. “They are right. They came from the same source.”

“Compromised!” He threw his hand up and stalked down the hall. He heard the click of her heels as she trailed him, with his man behind her.

He passed the array of blades he’d collected over the years. Signs of strength. Power. He ran his fingers along the steel. He drew one free. Admired the razor’s edge.

And in his periphery, he noticed Kiew straighten. Grow more poised. Tensed.

“Takkar has been meddling too long and too deep. And he did not think I would know. That I am too weak or stupid to see what he has done to me. So, I will finish not only these Americans but Sajjan Takkar.”

“I can help with the codes! You brought me here for this reason. Let me—”

“All are compromised.” With that he turned and thrust the sword through the one who had betrayed him. “You would have been a beautiful pearl.”

Shanghai, China
11 April—2245 Hours

Rotors
thwumped
as Raptor raced to stop a maniac. A five-hour flight had given the team time to prepare a plan and one contingency. They’d rappel in, locate Tang, and stop Meng-Li from accessing the very lives of soldiers and operatives around the world. If he could access that, then not only were the soldiers’ and operator’s lives in danger, but so were the lives of their families. He’d have access to their entire personnel files.

Geared up and adrenaline jacked, Sal sat in the jumpseat, watching the glittering lights of a thriving metropolis. Cassie would be ferried in after the insertion team. Once immediate threats were neutralized.

But that put the onus on him to make sure he did his job and did it right. If he didn’t, Cassie could die.

God had lifted one burden from his shoulders by bringing Hawk back from the dead, so Sal didn’t want to wreck that.

“Two mikes out,” came the pilot’s voice through the coms. “Going silent.”

The heavy
thwump
of the rotors vanished, but the numbing vibration worming through his boots, legs, and backside didn’t. Sal lowered his night-vision goggles then caught the rope, readying himself to fast-rope onto the rooftop of the high-rise that housed Meng-Li’s private lab.

The bird raced up to the building and swung around, his side exposed.

Boots propped on the edge, Sal coiled the rope around his arm and a leg. Dangling out into the cool, rank air, he pushed off. Sailed through the night, feeling the burn of the rope in his hands as he sped toward the tarred surface. On the roof, he snapped up his weapon and knelt, taking up a position to watch for unfriendlies.

Behind him, came the soft thud of six more pair of boots.

A pat came to his shoulder and he pushed up and rushed around a main AC unit. Dirt and pebbles crunched beneath his boots, the view before him awash in a monochromatic green. Ten yards to the door. The team hustled up and even as he advanced on the point of entry, he heard the telltale
whoosh
of the second chopper arriving.

Sal sprinted to the door, expecting trouble. Why hadn’t they already had some? Meng-Li
had
to know they were coming.

Even as he thought it, Sal saw the wiring on the steel door.

He held up a fisted hand, bringing the insertion to a halt.

Dean sidled up.

So much for a stealthy breach. Sal pointed to the explosives. Dean patted his shoulder, held up a finger, then jogged toward the three-foot-high cement ledge rimming the rooftop. He peered over, obviously looking for a quieter alternative. If there was a balcony. He rushed farther down then jogged back.

He pointed to the door and nodded.

Do it
. Sal looped a rope to the handle and the team backpedaled a half-dozen paces to take cover behind that AC unit. He yanked the rope.

Booom!

The building shook. The door flipped outward, blasted free amid a fireball.

A little more noisy than a flash-bang. Nothing more. As Sal made his way into the building, he knew Meng-Li didn’t expect to kill them. He just wanted a little warning. One they’d had to oblige him with.

“Boris has cleared the motion sensors and rerouted video footage to keep security from rushing up there,” Takkar spoke from his seat back in Afghanistan.

Snaking into the building, down the stairs from the roof, Sal heard the crack of thunder outside. Unbelievable. A storm.

They moved quickly down the steel steps, which amplified their movements. Still, with a half-dozen men in the well, it amazed him how quiet they were. At the first level, they grouped up. Sal waited, hand on the door, until he had the telltale pat on his shoulder indicating they were in position.

Dean shouldered the wall in front of him. Mouthed,
“Three… two… go!”

Sal jerked open the door.

Gunfire peppered the walls. Dinged and vibrated against the steel barrier.

Dean jerked back.

Sal held the door. Eagle and Harrier fired back, advancing as a coordinated strike effort. They flanked right and left, still firing.

Dean moved out, shooting until the cacophony of weapons’ fire consumed his hearing.

A clap of thunder snapped off the electricity.

Enemy fire hesitated.

Raptor didn’t. Within seconds, silence fell on the foyer as did the bodies of three of Meng-Li’s men. Sal and Titanis were in position with the rest. In the stairwell, they heard boots thudding. Riordan and his team were on time.

Darkness gave them the advantage, but Sal knew that wouldn’t last long. Generators would kick in.

They moved quickly toward the midlevel entry lab. They had to stop Meng-Li from decimating American forces. As they moved through the high-end penthouse, Sal couldn’t help but feel creeped out. Something was wrong here. Really wrong.

His gaze hit something on a table draped in a cloth. Another by the fireplace. What the…? Why were things covered and mirrors turned?

Freaky.

“Chinese custom,” Titanis said, “to protect the souls of a loved one who has died.”

“Who died?”

“Probably his mother,” Takkar said. “She was ailing.”

They hurried through the living room and down the corridor. There they found the access stairs.

Someone sat in the corner.

“Hands, hands,” Sal shouted, his heart thundering.

Slowly, much slower than he would’ve preferred, hands came up. Bloodied. And as he stepped closer, he saw the face. “It’s Tang. She’s injured!”

“Me,” she breathed. “You need me…” She cringed and hissed, holding her side where blood stained her blouse. “Codes—me, take me—”

“Biosensor locks,” Dean shouted from below.

The pieces clicked together. Sal knelt and eyed Titanis. “Help me get her up.” After hoisting the petite woman to her feet, they carried her down the stairs. She gritted her teeth, and he knew that injury in her side had to hurt. It wasn’t a bullet wound.

She waved a hand toward the three-by-five-inch panel. Sal aimed her at the pad. She pressed her hand against it. When the light flashed green, she punched in a code.

Pressurized, the wall hissed and then slid back.

“Leave…” Her eyes fluttered shut.

“Titanis—”

“Go. I’ll stay,” he said.

“No.” She snapped her head up and cried out. “No, you need me. He’s in the contained room. My passcode. Only my pass…”

“Kiew?”

Sal glanced back, agitated that Cassie and the SEALs had already caught up.

“She said we need a code to get in.” Sal keyed his mic. “We need a code. Tang says we need her code, but she’s in and out of consciousness.” He looked at Cassie as the others headed into the den. “Stay with her. Get her to talk. Tell you that code. We need it, Cass.”

“Boris is working on it from here, too,” Takkar said through the coms.

Sal trailed Dean, Eagle, and Harrier into the corridor marked with blue lights. They moved like a machine, the well-oiled machine he’d come to love and appreciate. With a threat against not just his brothers-in-arms, but their families, Sal felt the stakes had never been higher. It was one thing to kill soldiers in war. It was another to go after their families, children. Innocents.

But moving in on him wouldn’t do any good unless Cassie got that code.