by Ed Kovacs
So screw Zhao, he would never harm Oi Lam. He was chief of the Second Department, one of the most powerful positions in all of the Chinese military, he could do pretty much as he pleased. He'd already made arrangements to provide Oi Lam with an authentic Singaporean passport. He might put her on a plane out of Guangzhou tonight. So he closed his phone and took a healthy sip of Remy Martin Louis XIII Black Pearl Limited Edition cognac and considered the situation.
What was Zhao up to? He'd already ordered Tang to be murdered if the Americans weren't killed tonight. Would he, could he order the death of his oldest, most loyal friend, too? Ma put himself in Zhao's place, and could not rule it out.
But General Ma had no intentions of dying anytime soon. Suddenly, with the clarity of spring water from the Yuecheng Mountains, he concluded he must confront Zhao and negotiate a detente guaranteed by the knowledge of mutually assured destruction should either man attempt a first strike. Yes, the time was almost here. So he needed to do a few things, sooner rather than later.
CHAPTER 23
20:36
Hernandez crouched under the table and watched through a narrow slit in the red silk as Rena Musaad disappeared into the unoccupied JW Ballroom in the Marriott. He'd earlier spotted a Chinese surveillance team watching her in the wine bar when he'd given the sommelier the note for Rena. He had five rounds left in the suppressed handgun, the gun he'd taken away from the tall man on Tung Choi Street this afternoon. Was it this afternoon? It seemed like an eternity ago. Five cartridges should be enough.
He regulated his breathing to counter the rising anticipation of imminent violence. There was no escaping the jittery feelings when one waited in ambush, but he remained in control. The breathing helped, as did the many years of training and experience under his belt. The only sound in the foyer was of distant, muffled laughter coming from the other salon rooms. The space was completely still, until...movement. Shadows entered his field of vision.
A casually-dressed young Chinese couple—the surveillance team he'd spotted earlier—appeared as silently as ghosts drifting through a wall. They stepped soundlessly on rubber-soled shoes into the foyer with the sureness and confidence of professional assassins, which was exactly what they were. And a skilled killer is finely attuned to danger; perhaps they sensed it, too. The couple exchanged the slightest of nods and both pulled suppressed automatics from under their jackets.
Hernandez unconsciously bit his lip. These two weren't just doing surveillance; they were a wet team here to wipe Musaad. They'd simply been waiting for her to leave the wine bar. Damn, not good.
The tall woman with a hooked nose like a bird of prey suspiciously eyed the row of draped tables as she crept past, just feet from where Hernandez lay in wait. Her muscular male partner angled toward the ballroom's lavishly festooned entryway. Hernandez couldn't afford to let him get too far.
“Bie dong! Fangxia ni de wuqi!” yelled Hernandez. Don’t move! Drop your weapons!
The man and woman both spun toward the long tables that together ran over thirty feet long. The woman, hesitated, seemingly unsure of where to shoot. She fired twice into the bunting, the shots from her suppressed pistol sounding like two short coughs. Before she could fire a third time, two muffled shots spoke an answer and she fell to the floor.
Her companion fired four times—puft puft puft puft—into the red bunting draping the front of the tables, then tuck-and-rolled to his left. It took the man a couple of seconds to regain his balance and his sight picture, then he squeezed off two more shots as he cut toward the far end of the tables in a flanking maneuver.
As he leveled his weapon to take aim, two slugs tore into his chest. The Chinese man looked utterly shocked, and then collapsed at the end of the row of tables.
Hernandez stepped forward from the corner of the marble wall, just feet from where he'd been hiding under the table. He'd scrambled into the new position when the killer had performed his tuck and roll. He shook his head, silently berating himself for having called out the warning to the killers. They had already pulled their guns and had come to kill Musaad, so he should have just shot them down like rabid dogs. They certainly hadn't given any of their American victims a chance to surrender.
He tucked the gun away and hurried forward. It only took seconds to pull the dead man under one of the tables hidden from sight by the bunting. The female was a little farther away and left a blood trail as he dragged her body over to join her dead partner.
“You must be Ron Hernandez.”
Startled, he swung the gun around. Rena Musaad looked remarkably composed as she stood next to one of the hanging draperies. Then she saw the blood on the floor and color drained from her face. “Oh my... I thought you'd just... knocked them out or something.”
“I did—permanently. Do me a favor and pull down one of those drapes and wipe up this blood before somebody sees it.”
“Um, shouldn't we call the police instead of hiding the bodies?” she asked, sounding nervous.
He squatted next to the corpses and checked their pockets. “Not if you want to keep living.” He stashed the dead man's gun into his pocket and then glanced up at her—she now looked ashen. “These two were killers, Ms. Musaad. The drapes. Do it now, please,” he said, a bit sharply.
She snapped alert and yanked on the drapery closest to her. Within moments, she'd wiped up the blood and they'd stashed the bloody drapes under the table with the stiffs. Rena looked slightly green around the gills as they stood up together. “I saw them in the wine bar not long ago.”
“They followed you.” Hernandez noticed the female's gun still on the floor. He quickly bent down to retrieve it, and then placed it into Musaad's purse. “Keep this for now.”
“I'd rather not, Mister Hernandez.” She looked down into her purse but didn't seem to want to touch the gun. “This isn't how I usually begin an interview. I'm sorry I feel a bit off, but you've just now killed two people.”
“Two assassins,” he countered. “More will be coming, so I suggest we get out of here right now and—” He stopped as a sound approached from down the hall. Footsteps and something else.
He touched the gun inside his jacket but didn't pull it out. They exchanged a glance. He could read on her face that she understood danger was approaching. “Kiss me,” she said. “But keep one eye open please.” She didn't wait for a response, just stepped forward, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, so her back was exposed to whoever was coming.
He squinted through both eyes as two male hotel staff members hurried into the foyer with a rolling cart. The taller, stocky one had an androgynous look; the guy pushing the cart had a buzz cut and thick lips for an Asian. The staffers seemed to be in a hurry and only gave the couple a casual glance.
Just as they were about to pass and enter the ballroom, the buzz cut staffer who'd been pushing the cart, pulled a large knife with an eight-inch blade. He lunged toward Rena and began an upward thrust.
With no time to think, Hernandez jerked Rena to his left, tripping her with an extended left leg and sending her to the floor. He crossed his forearms into an “X” at the same time he shot his hips back to move his belly away from the approaching razor-sharp steel. His crossed arms stopped the momentum of the attacker's hand just in time.
Hernandez instantly slid his top arm up to the man's elbow and sharply pulled the joint toward him. The fat-lipped killer was now off balance with Hernandez in complete control of his right arm. Hernandez wrenched the arm, forcing the man to bend over as the knife was now pointed directly at the killer's back.
He forced the long blade into the assassin's back, pulled it out and then in rapid succession stuck the man four more times, twisting the knife each time to slice up his innards. He pushed him to the floor, now holding the moaning man's knife. The whole sequence had only taken seconds.
Rena let out a small gasp, having watched the bloodletting from just a few feet away. “Rena, get back!” he yelled, stepping between her and the second killer,
who was on the move.
A fast mental count told him he had one round left in the Chinese semi-auto inside his jacket. The silenced pistol he'd just put into his pocket had been fired four times and held an unknown number of rounds. The gun from the dead Chinese woman was in Rena's purse, a few feet away on the floor. Hernandez preferred shooting to slicing and dicing and wanted to go for a handgun, but this unusual-looking killer was lightning quick and coming right at him.
Rena was just able to fast-crawl away, leaving her purse behind, before the stocky assassin attacked, holding a wide, fixed-blade hunting knife with a gutting hook at the tip. If you stabbed someone in the lower abdomen, you could jerk the knife upward, hook the intestines, and pull the guts right out of the body. Hernandez spun away from a thrust just in time.
The two adversaries locked eyes and Hernandez realized he was fighting a woman, a tomboy, not that it gave him any advantage. This muscle-bound lady knew what she was doing. She'd just lost three partners, so there was bloodlust in her menacing gaze. She stood with slightly bent knees, holding the knife in her right hand.
“Mister Hernandez, I am Chang. I have come to kill you and the lady.”
“Funny, that's what your three friends thought.”
Chang's nostrils flared and she barred her teeth. Good. Make her angry, emotional. Help her to make a mistake. Hernandez was an okay knife fighter, but was better at defense than offense, so he completely surprised Chang by tossing the knife. “Rena!” he called out to the beautiful Egyptian. The blade skittered across the floor and she scrambled to pick it up. He wanted her to at least have a chance in case he wasn't the last man standing.
Hernandez held his hands up, palms facing his adversary. He wasn't surrendering, this was a defensive posture. He stood slightly bent over, keeping his hips further back from the vertical plane of his arms. With Rena now scampering further away, Hernandez quickly moved to his left, into the middle of the entryway and away from the tables.
Chang lunged with a straight thrust toward Hernandez's mid-section, making no secret of the fact she wanted to gut him and finish things quickly. He reacted to the thrust by pivoting his body as he shot his left arm forward and then swept it outward, pushing Chang's arm and knife away from him, while at the same time moving his right hand to her right shoulder. His body was now leaning forward at almost forty-five degrees as he used his right arm to leverage weight down upon her shoulder, forcing the tomboy's head further down.
He would have preferred to have a grip on her knife. He straightened up into a solid stance as he vised his right hand around the back of Chang's neck, all the while keeping her knife arm away from his torso with the continued use of his left arm block.
###
Chang began to pummel Hernandez's midsection with her most powerful left jabs—she had good upper body strength—while still twisting her right wrist, trying to slash the man wherever she could. He was strong, maybe the toughest target she'd ever had to face. He now stood straight, knees slightly bent. She held a greatly inferior position, bent over almost to seventy degrees, her feet spread too wide apart. Not good. She needed a dramatic move, and reached with her left hand to grab his testicles. She would squeeze them to meat mush if she could reach them.
Hernandez anticipated and twisted his hips away, so Chang came up empty. Angry and frustrated, she was now bent over at fully ninety degrees as the American smashed his right knee hard into her chin, cracking several teeth and causing her to bite off a small slice of her tongue. She refused to cry out. She'd taken worse beatings. Beatings and rapes by her uncles when she was a young teen. Her abuse had always come at the hands of a man and so she took great pleasure in venting her boiling rage by killing men all over the world in service to her government. But it was really in service to her venomous desire for vengeance. Suddenly another knee slammed into her face, breaking her nose, which spurted blood. She turned away from the third blow but felt Hernandez gaining control of her right arm, her knife hand arm.
Blood gushed from her nose and mouth and dripped to the floor. She knew she looked bad, so he might underestimate her resolve. She had a backup knife, and needed it now, because he had control of her left arm and guided her manlike body with the leverage on her neck.
She reached the small automatic folder in her left pants pocket and the blade sprung open like a horse leaping out of the starting gate. Just as the big man sent her flying into the marble wall, she managed to stab him hard and deep in the left thigh, hoping she hit a blood pathway.
###
Hernandez didn't let go even though Chang had stuck him good. He wanted to end this, but the tough Chinese tomboy was a tenacious fighter and wasn't about to quit. She tried to stick him again but he moved his hips away from her reach. He still hadn't been able to get her to drop the big knife but continued using her left arm to control her movement. He wrenched her arm even higher and wedged her against the wall as his right hand found her left hand which held the smaller blade.
She was incredibly strong, and they fought for control of both knives.
It was a death dance, their upper bodies locked together as they took turns kneeing each other in the groin and vying for position as they spun around. They knocked over meter-high heavy red candles that must have weighed fifty pounds each. Red drapes hanging from the ceiling got caught up in their bloody ballet and entwined them both. Only nineteen seconds had elapsed since the battle with Chang began, and it was still anybody's fight as their arms twisted into odd configurations as they combined instinct and training to gain advantage.
Hernandez then jerked hard on her right arm as he shot out his hip and pivoted, sure that this would drop the Chinese killer to the floor. But it didn't. Chang stayed on her feet in a wide stance, and although she was half bent over, her left hand was now free again, so she slashed with the small shank toward his legs.
Chang had a free hand again, but so did Hernandez, who now had both of his hands on her right wrist. He jerked and she screamed as the unmistakable sound of her wrist breaking filled the foyer. The menacing gutting knife she'd been holding like some kind of mystical object fell to the floor as she dropped onto her side, legs akimbo.
Standing over her now, he wrenched her arm, breaking it with a series of sickening cracks. Chang screamed and lashed out weakly with the small folder, but couldn't reach flesh. The tomboy was going to fight to her last breath and Hernandez understood and respected that he was fighting a true warrior.
He stomped his right foot onto her left arm so she couldn't use the small blade. He dropped down and slammed his right elbow into her face. As hard as he could, again and again. He then delivered a blow that crushed her windpipe.
Thirty-seven seconds had elapsed since the fight had begun. Panting to catch his breath, feeling gloriously alive, Hernandez remained stooped over the dead body and could have stayed there for a long time even though pain from the stab wound and the other blows had found his consciousness.
He looked down at her lifeless form and felt no compassion. Four more killers scratched, for Willie. Six counting the two on Tung Choi Street. But the blood justice didn't make him feel better at all. Willie was dead and nothing would change that. His family was forever ripped asunder. How could they ever have another family barbeque without Willie the master griller? What would their Christmas reunions be like without his brother singing carols in a red Santa hat as he made mulled wine for the adults and hot chocolate with marshmallows for his young kids? The life of every party, a catalyst for good clean fun, Willie had been an irresistible force of nature that bound the family together, like the strongest magnet.
Ron could kill every Chinese dirtbag from here to Dalian, and Willie would still be dead. Some wounds simply cannot heal. Grant was right. Killing wasn't the answer. The maggots responsible for the whole travesty needed to be exposed to the light of truth. Just as he began to feel woozy, a soft hand gently touched his shoulder.
“Mister Hernandez, thank you... but perhaps we sho
uld leave.”
CHAPTER 24
21:00
They were lined up waiting to get in when the doors opened exactly at nine. Funny how the promise of an open bar and free gambling chips can instill a sense of punctuality in the high and mighty. The rich want something for nothing just as much as everybody else. Vivian Chu and Eleanor Chow were some of the first through the door. The two tai tais Nicole had met in the Lobby Lounge were already well into their cups, but the old ladies headed straight for one of the many bar stations in the ballroom.
At least three hundred guests had already poured in when Conner Green escorted Nicole Grant and Tiffany the hooker into the entryway, which contained two X-ray scanners and uniformed Hong Kong police wielding handheld metal detectors. Guest IDs were carefully matched against an invitation list, but since Green was one of the speakers tonight, he had carte blanche to bring in uninvited guests. A row of sharp-eyed security men assigned to the individual protection details for dignitaries from various countries stood by closely eying everyone who entered.
Grant hoped Hernandez was okay. She felt slightly... what was the term? Cut lose? How good it would feel if he were here to back her up. She'd impulsively run with the scenario of somehow scamming her way into Zhao Yiren's condo, but now realized the scenario didn't include a role for Hernandez to play, so she shouldn't be blaming him for his absence. When she had a chance, she'd get another IM off to him.
Conner Green stood just feet away, ignoring her and Tiffany as he air-kissed and glad-handed with some of the ultra-wealthy. She and Tiffany were arm candy, only to be summoned when needed, so she wandered away in a stream of passing party-goers.
