Forged in Honor (1995) (35 page)

Good-bye, my friend. I will remember our days together always."

Chen reached for the door handle but Stephen leaned forward and grabbed his shoulder. "Let us fight this together, Chen! We can defeat them with what you know!"

Chen smiled. "You are still the naive Sao of the mountains. A traitor's family is not spared-my son and daughter would die an unspeakable death over many days. Stephen, I have given you all that I can. May your god forgive us all."

Stephen closed his tearing eyes and released his grip. "He can't forgive those who are already in hell."

Stephen dumped Sergeant Shin's body on a back road and parked a block from the large Holiday Inn complex. He walked hurriedly to the parking lot, keeping in the shadows of the trees. Not seeing Po's white Mercedes or the matching black one that the security captains drove, he entered the back entrance of the Holidome and tried to act casual as he passed two boys splashing each other in the shallow end of the pool. Po's room curtains were still pulled and the lights were out, so he quickly retraced his steps back to the parking lot, knowing he had made it back before them. He scanned the partially lighted lot and chose a position in the shrubs next to the entrance they always used. Backing up against the brick wall, he kneeled behind a hedge of evergreens, pulled the pistol from his belt, and took a moment to familiarize himself with the small .22 semiautomatic. He pushed the magazine clip and saw it was only one bullet short, slapped it back into the butt of the weapon, and jacked a round into the chamber. The solid chuck-link sound of the working parts boosted his sagging confidence. He prayed they would hurry, for he knew there must still be a way to save his family.

After a minute the black Mercedes pulled into the lot.

Stephen thumbed the safety off as the car pulled into a space only twenty feet away from him. He looked toward the lot entrance but didn't see Po's car following. His luck was holding, he thought, until the driver's door opened and the interior light revealed only Captain Bwin.

The stocky officer got out and locked the door. He looked toward the lot entrance and paused before shrugging and turning toward the pool entrance. Reaching into his pocket for his room key, he lowered his head but suddenly looked up, hearing movement to his right. Stephen fired.

Bwin's head snapped back, his knees buckled, and he sank to the sidewalk, twitching. Stephen grabbed the officer's collar and pulled the body behind the hedge. As he returned quickly to the sidewalk, he picked up a handful of pine needles to throw on the pool of blood-but there wasn't one.

The small bullet had not exited. He tensed as another car entered the lot, but it was a station wagon. Then a second car pulled in-Po's white Mercedes.

Po got out with his briefcase and headed for the entrance.

Captain Sing locked the door of the car and hurried to catch up to his boss. Po paused at the door and turned to Sing, who had come up behind him. "Come with me to my room and I'll give you the cellular phone. I want you to call Brigadier Tan from out here while you're waiting for Stephen."

As soon as both men had walked in the door Stephen stepped out, keeping his gun hand hidden in his jacket, and followed them inside. Stopping beside a Pepsi machine, he waited and watched as the two men walked toward Po's room. Once they had unlocked the door and stepped inside, he moved.

Po unlocked the briefcase he had placed on the table and handed Sing the phone. "Get Bwin and-"

A knock at the door interrupted him. "That's him now.

You two know what's to be done." The captain opened the door and a bullet struck him two inches below his navel. He doubled over, let out a gasp of air, and fell. Stephen shoved him back and slammed the door while Po stared at the black pistol, stammering, "No, Stephen. No!"

Stephen kicked Sing in the chin, lifted his head, and jammed the silencer into his open mouth. He pulled the trigger before facing Po, who had turned and run toward the hall door. Stephen raised the pistol and shot him in the back of the leg. He went down face first, grunting. Stephen stepped forward and grabbed Po's jacket collar. Then he dragged him back to the center of the room and threw him down next to Sing's body.

Po brought his hands up and pleaded, "Anything, anything you want. Don't kill me ... don't kill-"

"Where are Mya and my son?" Stephen hissed, seething with hate and frustration. "Tell me or I will blow your toes off first and work up your legs."

"I'm bleeding to death," Po cried, writhing in pain.

Stephen placed the silencer barrel on the colonel's right kneecap. "Where?"

"Dinto. They were all taken to Dinto. Tan ordered it to make sure none of them-"

Stephen picked up the cellular phone from the floor and tossed it to the wounded man. "Call Tan and tell him you will die unless they are released. Do it!"

Gasping in pain, Po fumbled with the phone. His hands were shaking so badly he misdialed three times before finally getting it right. He got through to the duty officer, who passed the call through to Tan's residence.

"Brigadier, this is Colonel Po. .. . No, listen please, Stephen is here. He has killed Sing and-" His eyes opened wider and he shakily handed the phone to Stephen. "He wants to talk to you."

Stephen snatched the phone away and brought it to his ear.

"Tan, he will die unless you-"

Tan snarled, "He means nothing."

Stephen's nostrils flared. He glanced at the briefcase and snapped, "I want my wife and son freed. I have the account numbers, and-"

"Fool, we moved the funds to another bank once the transfer was made. Do you think we would risk Po being stopped and searched by U. S. Customs? You are a fool, Kang, just like your father. I will call our Chinese friends and they will find you. If you go to the authorities, I will personally kill your wife. In fact, it will please me, for there will be one less filthy Shan to worry about. If you have a pistol, put it to your head-it's the only thing that will save her ... from me."

Stephen screamed in rage and threw the phone at Sing's body. It hit the dead officer's skull and bounced toward the door. Spinning, Stephen kicked the device and cried, "God, no! No!"

Seeing his chance, Po reached for the nine-millimeter pistol holstered under Sing's arm. Sobbing, Stephen turned, dropped to one knee, and fired the entire magazine into Po's twisted face.

.

1:15 A. M., Washington, D. C.

Kelly put the shoestring necklace that held his badge over his head before facing his men. They carried their badges in identical fashion for easy identification, and each man had a shotgun in his hands. Kelly pulled out his old snub-nosed .38 and nodded. "Show time. We go in like we planned. Keep each other posted on the radio tac sets. Let's do it."

Within minutes the teams were at their posts. Kelly nodded to the team behind him carrying the door buster. They closed up and Kelly exchanged glances with Sergeant David Nolan, his friend and partner of ten years. He whispered, "Slow and easy, Davy."

They turned the corner in the darkened third-floor tenement hallway and slowly walked forward in their rubber soled shoes until coming to a door marked with a rusted seven. Kelly nodded.

Nolan whispered into the small ball just in front of and below his lips. "We're going in ... five seconds."

Four other teams located inside and outside the building all received the message on their tactical radio headsets and began the countdown.

Four ... three . ..

Kelly flattened himself against the right wall. Nolan was on the left. The door team swung the metal ram back in the ready position.

Two ... one ...

The ram slammed forward, shattering the door. The busting team dropped the device and grabbed the shotguns they'd leaned against the wall as Kelly raced in yelling, "Police, nobody move!" He swung his pistol right toward movement and hollered, "Freeze!" An old Jamaican man sitting in an easy chair in front of a blaring television threw his hands up.

Nolan was in a shooter's crouch beside Kelly but was looking into the kitchen, where two men sat at a small table.

He yelled, "Get your hands where I can see them, now!"

One of the men raised one hand immediately and then brought the other up holding a compact submachine gun that chattered with surprisingly little noise. Nolan fired as he took a bullet in the neck. His one shot went high.

Kelly spun at the sound and was hit in the leg by the burst.

He staggered back a step but fired his snub-nose twice before the second Mac10 burst hit him in the chest, knocking him off his feet and back into the television. The door busters came in blasting with their shotguns, turning the kitchen into splinters, broken glass, and bleeding men.

Despite the shooting and screaming, Kelly could hear only the pathetic sound of Nolan gagging on his own blood.

Kelly tried to move and help his friend but he couldn't-a giant invisible hand was pushing down on his chest harder and harder. Unable to fight the pain any longer, he closed his eyes and gave in to the quiet darkness.

Seattle Stephen washed his hands and looked in the mirror. He hardly recognized the man he saw. Hating the image, he picked up Sing's nine-millimeter and stuck it into the shoulder holster he had taken off the officer's body. He walked into the bedroom and picked up the briefcase holding the dead men's billfolds and other weapons. Ignoring the sickeningly sweet, coppery smell of blood, he strode for the door, placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside knob, and shut it. He walked slowly to his room, where he threw his things into his suitcase and left. Getting into his rental car, he placed the key in the ignition, then lowered his hand and stared out the windshield, realizing he had no place to go. The weight under his arm gave him an option-Tan and Chen's option-to kill himself now. He wanted to fight, but whom?

His enemies and his family were in Burma, twelve thousand miles away. He could not kill himself, for he knew as long as he lived, they would not kill them; his wife and son were their insurance of his silence. Now it was only a question of how to stay alive and somehow get back to Burma. How?

Tan would have called the Triad, who would have contacted their syndicate in Seattle, so they would have people watching for him at the airport. Where could he go? Slowly his eyes lowered to his only hope, the silver bracelet. Joshua.

Chapter 17.

.

4 A. M., North Bend, Washington.

The ringing alarm woke him up. Stephen picked up the battery-operated clock from the dash and turned it off. It was 7 P. M. in Rangoon. In less than ten hours Swei would become his country's leader. He opened the car door, took a few steps into the trees, and relieved himself. After leaving the Holidome he had turned in his rental car at the airport, gone to a different rental company, and rented another car using the false documentation Po had provided when he first arrived. He had made it only as far as North Bend before he had to pull off at a rest stop to get a few hours of sleep.

Getting back in the car, he turned on the interior lights and looked at his map. The small town of Ephrata was about 250 miles away, just off Interstate 290. It had a commuter airport.

If he stuck with flying into other small airports, always heading east, he could wind up close enough to Washington, D. C. to rent a car and drive to the capital city. He closed his eyes for a moment to think. Tan would send his henchmen back to his house or question his wife about if he knew anybody in the States. Even if Mya didn't tell them about Joshua, all they had to do was look at the picture on his dresser. It showed him and Mya with Josh and Jill on Royal Lake in a sailboat. And there were his letters-Mya had kept them all.

Stephen's eyes teared again as he thought about his wife and the questioning she would have to endure. 'Trembling, and telling himself he had to try, he started the car. The syndicate knew about Joshua by now and would be watching him. He, Stephen, wouldn't be able to call, but if he got to Washington he would make contact somehow. Joshua had written he was living on a boat, so there had to be a way.

Forcing his tears back, Stephen slipped the transmission into Drive and pulled out onto the dark road.

Washington, D. C.

Josh awoke hearing a strange phone ringing. Opening his eyes, he saw an even stranger ceiling and realized he'd slept in Grant's apartment. He had gotten up during the night and moved from the patio chair to her more comfortable couch.

One glance at the VCR's digital clock told him it was almost 5 A. M. "Ah, shit," he mumbled as he headed for the door to make his escape.

"Josh?"

He turned and saw a vision in a short nightgown standing in the opened bedroom door. The light was behind her, so the sheer material was almost transparent, showing off her slender but well-proportioned body. He stammered and quickly averted his eyes. "Yeah, I'm still here, I'm sorry. I must have-"

"Josh, Stef's on the phone. She sounds upset."

"Ah, shit," he mumbled again. He didn't want to talk to his daughter, who must think she'd caught him with more than his hand in the cookie jar. Grant strode over and handed him the phone. Her being so close in the skimpy nightgown woke him instantly. He took a deep breath for strength and tried to sound innocent. "Hi, hon. I went to sleep on the-"

"Dad, Kelly has been shot. Mary called me ten minutes ago after trying to reach you at the boat. He's at University, but I don't know his condition. Mary was too upset to tell me anything."