by Allan Cole
Bill sneezed again, then wiped his nose with a sleeve. He held his sleeve out into the rain, let it get really wet, then wrung it out and wiped his nose again.
“You know very well that I’m fuckin’ sick, Frank,” he said in a stuffed up voice. “This job is fuckin’ fucked, is what I say.”
Frank let a smile of sympathy cross his face. He said, “You comin’ down with SARS or something, Bill? That’s all we God damned need. The assholes blaming the CIA for spreading SARS.”
He gave Bill a closer look, then patted his cheek. Making a little morale-boosting joke out of what he said next. “Yeah, yeah, I know your story, Bill,” he said. “You’re just trying to impress the bosses with your dedication by sticking to your post. Beri, beri, or not.”
Sounding very nasal, Bill said, “And I want to say, fuck you beri, beri much, Frank. Five years I’ve been after a posting in Hawaii. What happens when I finally get it? The posting comes with the dreaded Asian flu attached. Probably caught it off some dork who was diddling pigs or chickens, or some shit.”
Frank laughed. “That’s one theory,” he said. “The other is pure government stupidity. What’s your guess? Human sexual freaks? Or government stupidity?”
Bill sneezed, then said, “Probably both, Frank. There’s nothing stupider than the government, or more horny than a government employee. Put ‘em together and we’re fucking standing here in the middle of a hurricane lurkin’ for some assholes who are way smarter than us. They’ll wait until the rain stops, the day is warm and sunny, then step past our tired asses and kill all the people we’re guarding. And, you know what, Frank?”
Amused, Frank bit: “What, Bill?”
“I won’t give a fat fuck,” Bill said. “Because I’ll have already drowned.”
Frank said, “Sorry, Bill. You always seem to get the shitty end of the stick. Tell you what. I’ll ask Jon and Akiro if one of them wants to swap with you. Get you out of the rain for bit.”
“Fat chance of that,” Bill said. “They’re probably already fucking up their cardio systems with goddamned burgers and fries.”
“Shall I get you some, my friend?” Frank asked, as he started moving away.
“Fuckin’ A,” Bill said. “I figure if I can get enough globs of fat floating around in my arteries, I can fool myself into thinking I’ve had a real life before I die.”
“I’ll get your order in,” Frank said. “Burgers, fries and a short order of snot pills.”
Bill laughed. “Yeah, and super size those snot pills.”
He sneezed again, then looked up. Frank had already disappeared into the gloom. Miserable, he stepped back into the scant shelter of the palms.
*****
Meanwhile, Frank was striding deeper into the garden, the oversized umbrella shedding most of the rain. The only discomfort was the constant stream that somehow found a way into the backs of his shoes. He stopped, shook one foot. Then the other.
Thunder boomed, then the exterior fuse box of the house sparked and suddenly the whole place went dark.
Frank fished out his cellphone and speed dialed, humming “Georgia” to himself as the phone rang. *****
In the Phoenix House, Ann and the others jumped as the loud crack of a circuit breaker split the air and the whole place was plunged into darkness. Immediately, a few batteryoperated emergency lights came on. At the same time, Mark and Ruth – who were accustomed to such things – moved around and fired up some candles and hurricane lamps. The kitchen was soon glowing with bright light.
Ann noticed that the lights made Mr. Karoda’s tattoos blaze with inner warmth and illumination. Soon, he was a living canvas of beautifully illustrated foul deeds and pictograms.
Fascinated though she was, Ann had far more important things on her mind than a monograph on Yakuza tattoos.
She told Mark, “The emergency generator should’ve cut in when the power went out. See if you can figure out what’s wrong and fix it. If this happened during surgery, we’d have a potential disaster on our hands.”
Mark didn’t argue. He simply nodded and slipped out of the room. Ann’s cellphone rang. She answered.
She heard Frank say, “Everything okay in there?”
Ann replied, “Something’s wrong with the emergency generator. No biggie. We’ve dealt with worse in the refugee camps, believe me.” She paused, then asked, “What about you?”
Outside, Frank was circling the Phoenix House, the big brolly shielding him from the worst of the wet. He said, “Everything’s fine out here, Ann. Be with you in a few minutes. Gotta check on the other guys.”
In the kitchen, Ann was getting her suspicions under control. Lights go out during storms, right? Nothing worrisome about that. Right?
She took some deep, calming breaths, then said, “Ruth’s getting ready to make S'mores. Homemade graham crackers, marshmallows and lots of dipping chocolate.”
“Can’t wait,” Frank said.
They both cut the connection.
*****
Ann turned as Mark hurried into the room. He was frowning. Ann knew that frown. It did not bode well.
“No luck with the generator,” Mark said. “Looks like a crispy crittered coil. But that doesn’t make any sense. The unit’s brand-new.”
Ann said, “We’ll be okay. We’ve got plenty of batteries for the flashlights and radio.” She hesitated, then added, “Meanwhile, maybe you ought to see if all the doors and windows are secure.”
Mark gave her a look. “Something wrong, Doc?”
Ann shrugged. “Just taking precautions,” she said.
Ruth and Mark exchanged looks. When Ann said that, they knew very well that she thought the contents of several honey buckets were about to hit the fan.
Mark grunted, then fished a flashlight from of the emergency stores and headed out.
*****
In the backyard, Bill peered into the stormy night, collar up, umbrella poised, wind-driven water pelting him from behind and running down his neck. He sneezed loudly. He honked into a hanky, then wiped his nose, muttering the curses of the sick.
He heard a noise and turned slightly, tilting the umbrella to stave off the rain.
Bill said, “That you, Frank? Back so soon? What did the guys say? Am I in luck, or shit out of it?”
There was no response. Bill frowned, then moved closer to the source of the sound, squinting to see better.
“Frank?” he said.
And then his eyes went wide as a shadowy figure closed on him with the speed of a panther. Lightning struck. Steel flashed in the light. Bill gasped.
Then slumped to the muddy ground, dead. *****
In the side yard between the oversized garage and the fence line, two agents – Williams and Gonzales – moved along the pathway, checking things out.
A flashlight beamed through a window, bringing them up short. They weren’t too concerned. Any threat would come from outside, not inside.
A moment later a window slid up and Mark cautiously stuck his head out. A broad overhang kept him from getting wet.
“Everything okay, guys?” he asked.
Gonzales snorted good-humoredly. “Just fine, my large friend,” he said. “I’m standing out here in the rain with a my master’s degree from Georgetown University to keep me dry. And right about now, my brother the plumber is cuddled up with his wife and a 12-pack watching the big game on his high definition TV.”
Williams wiped rain from his face. “You always did think small, Gonzales,” he said. “Settled for government work instead of your Dad’s plumbing business.”
Mark laughed. “Come by the kitchen a little later,” he said. “We have plenty of Dr. Donovan’s famous stew left. And we’re getting ready to make S'mores.”
“You’ve just made a date,” Williams said.
Mark grinned at this, but bit back any catty replies. He just said goodnight, then shut and firmly locked the window.
The two agents moved off into the gathering darkness. Behind them t
here was a harsh cough. Gonzales jumped as if stung.
He turned to Williams, whose knees had suddenly gone wobbly, a hand clawing for his gun. Another cough and Williams was hurled back.
Gonzales managed to get his own gun out, but before he could fire, another cough from the silenced weapon slammed him to the ground.
Then a shadowy figured slipped up to the men to fire a shot into their heads.
*****
In the kitchen, hurricane lamps had been lit, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Zach was toasting marshmallows over a spirit lamp, while Mr. Karoda arranged the rest of the S'mores ingredients.
It was all a very cozy scene, Ann thought, but there was something that was definitely bothering her. She felt that old familiar buzz of danger running up her spine.
Ann got out her cellphone and hit the speed dial. Then frowned – there was no answer.
“Something wrong?” Ruth asked.
“I’m trying to call Frank,” Ann said. “That generator business bothers me.” She looked at Mark. “I mean, you only installed it the other day, right?
Mark nodded. Then experienced his own skin crawl. “Hey, doc. What’re you thinking?” he said.
Ann’s grim look was answer enough. She clicked the cellphone’s speaker function. Everyone could hear the beeping tones as she punched buttons. Then there was a ringing sound.
Finally, they all heard a click, as if someone was about to answer. But instead, a shrill sound burst from the speaker. Ann snapped the phone shut, agitated.
“What is it, Doc?” Mark asked.
In the corner, Mr. Karoda was on his feet. “Phone…” he said. Then he made a throat-cutting motion. “Someone kill.”
Ruth’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?” she demanded. “Someone kill? Kill who? Kill how?”
“They use microwaves to knock out cellphones,” Ann said. “It happened in the hotel room with my Dad.”
“Who’s they?” Ruth wanted to know. Ann just looked at her. Realization dawned. “Oh,” Ruth said in a small voice.
Ann went to Zach, who had dropped his
marshmallow on the table. He clutched the Nintendo, hands trembling.
“It’s kind of scary right now, huh, Zach?” Ann said. “It’s going to be okay, buddy. We’re not helpless.”
Zach gave a slight nod. Outside, the furious winds and rain of Hurricane Georgia battered the house. The boy shuddered, but then straightened his shoulders, determined to be brave.
Ann turned to the others and said, “We have to get ready for them.”
Nobody asked who she meant by “them.”
She went to a locked cabinet, fished out her key chain and opened it. There were several semi-automatic and automatic weapons inside, including two AK-47’s.
Ann motioned to Mr. Karoda, whose eyes brightened at the sight of the guns. “Will you load them?” she said in Japanese.
Mr. Karoda nodded eagerly and got to work.
Ann went to the kitchen sink, knelt, and dragged out a cardboard box filled with household items - cleansers, cans of furniture polish, bug bombs, etc.
“They say the kitchen is the most dangerous room in the house – and with good reason,” she said, handing the box to Mark. “Start making booby traps,” she said.
“I’ll set everything up in the clinic area, okay?” Mark said.
Ann nodded agreement. “That’s the easiest place to defend.” She thought a second, then said. “Also, there’s at least six TV monitors in the place. See what you can do with them.”
Scared as she was, Ruth had to laugh. She said, “What’re you going to do, bore them to death with TV? A hundred channels but nothing even for bad guys to watch. Hasn’t that been banned by the U.N. as cruel and unusual punishment?”
“We need explosive power,” Ann said. “Except, instead of exploding, a TV monitor implodes – because of the vacuum inside. The guts become flying shrapnel.”
Catching Ruth’s shocked look, she shrugged. “One of the things my Dad taught me.”
Zach perked up at the mention of his father. Scared as he was, he managed a smile. Ann noticed and smiled back.
Ruth said, “I’m feeling kind of helpless, Dr. D. I mean, I can’t shoot, or anything.”
“Sure you can,” Ann said. “Grab Mark’s old field kit. I know for a fact that he’s got at least one hypodermic gun in there. Load it with the downers of your choice. The fasteracting the better.”
Ruth cheered up at this. “Gotcha, Dr. D,” she said and took off.
Ann went to Zach and knelt beside him so they were at eye level. She pulled him close in a warm embrace.
“Listen, buddy,” she said. “You’re a CIA brat and I’m a CIA brat, right?” Zach nodded.
“Well, our Dad was always big on family drills at our house. Except we didn’t do it the same way civilian families do… Fire drills and things like that. A CIA family has Weapons Of Mass Destruction and Terrorist Attack drills.
"Did you get that too? Did our father do that stuff with you?”
Zach hesitated, then nodded. He made motions of hiding and sneaking around.
Ann chuckled at this. “It was the same with me when I was little,” she said. “Dad told me to find a small place and curl up. Fawns, little rabbits – and even baby bears and wolves do that naturally.
"So, that’s what I want you to do, Zach. Find a small dark place and curl up in it. And don’t come out until you hear me say that it’s safe.”
Zach studied Ann carefully. Then he gave a stubborn shake of his head. No, he wasn’t leaving. He was going to stay with Ann. He grabbed up his Nintendo and started to play.
Ann stared at him, scared for the boy and totally frustrated with him at the same time.
But before she could try to reason with him, the kitchen door was smashed inward.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ah Beng stood in the doorway, his toadies crowding in around him. Lashed by rain and wind, they looked like specters from some gothic tale of horror.
The gangster pointed his silenced pistol at Mr. Karoda, who slowly put the AK-47 he was loading on the floor and slid it away.
Ah Beng turned his attention to Ann and Zach. “What a picture,” he said. “The adoring sister and her doting younger brother.”
He moved forward, using the pistol to indicate the Nintendo and said, “A brother, as a matter of fact, who comes equipped with fabulous toys.”
He snapped his fingers at the boy. “Give it here,” he ordered.
Zach started to back away, but Ah Beng snatched the Nintendo from his hands. The boy gasped and tried to get the toy back.
Ann held onto him. “If you want revenge, take it out on me,” she said. “Leave the boy alone.”
Ah Beng’s eyebrows shot up. “Revenge?” he said, seemingly surprised. “Is that what you think this is all about?”
“What else?” Ann said. “My father destroyed whatever conspiracy you had in mind.”
“Oh, you think so, do you?” Ah Beng said. “You think everything died with your father?”
He held up the Nintendo. “It’s all in here,” he said. “A tiny chip hidden in the game machine by your father. The chip contains all the locations, names and the facilities for a multibillion-dollar business.”
Ann shot him a give-me-a-break look. “A billion dollars,” she snorted. “For missiles? For atomics? That’s a business for chumps. In case you haven’t noticed, Uncle Sam tends to get very testy with WMD people.”
Ah Beng found that amusing. “Weapons of mass destruction?” he said. “Why, my dear Dr. Donovan, that’s the last thing on my mind. Nor is it necessarily on the minds of my North Korean partners.
“They use threats of doomsday devices to get a place at the playing table. Sometimes they even trade a few to pad their treasury and unnerve their enemies.”
He waved the Nintendo. “What we’re dealing with here is real money,” he said. “Narcotics. That’s the past, present and future of the underground eco
nomy the world over.
“Contained in this chip is a catalogue of all the key customers, middlemen, processing labs, farms, transport systems and sympathetic bankers in the world.”
He kissed the machine. “He who holds this, holds real power.”
“Why are you lying?” Ann said. “There’s no need for it - you have the upper hand. My father would never involve himself with narcotics.”
“Oh, but this is not the work of your father,” Ah Beng said. “It’s the work of his wife, Cho.” He nodded at Zach. “It’s the boy’s mother who is the real villain, here. She’s the traitor.”
A low, furious moan escaped from Zach. He broke away from a startled Ann and leaped forward, screaming, “Don’t you talk about my mother.”
He grabbed the can of furniture polish from the pile Ann had been gathering and sprayed it in Ah Beng’s face.
The man reeled back and the gun went off, the bullet crashing into the table. Howling with pain, he clawed at his eyes, dropping the Nintendo.
Instantly, Zach grabbed it. The temporarily blinded Ah Beng lunged for him, but the boy dodged away. Mr. Karoda sprang into action, scooping up the AK47 and opening fire. One of the men went down, but Ah Beng and the others fled out the door.
Mr. Karoda sent a hail of bullets after them, then kicked the door shut.
He slung the weapon over his shoulder and grabbed the refrigerator, muscling it toward the door.
Ann ran to help, but Mr. Karoda shook her off. He spoke rapidly in Japanese. “Take the boy,” he commanded. “Run.”
She only hesitated a second, then grabbed the other AK-47, a handful of clips and raced from the kitchen, Zach in tow.
Knowing that Mr. Karoda couldn’t hold Ah Beng's gang for long, Ann sprinted down the dark hallway, pulling on Zach’s hand so hard she nearly lifted him from the ground.
Behind them they heard the crash of the refrigerator being tumbled over to block the door. Then more gunfire. *****
Back in the kitchen, Mr. Karoda dumped the big table over and crouched behind it. A split-second later, gunfire smashed the kitchen windows and chewed up the walls and floor.
Whenever there was a pause in the firing, Mr. Karoda leapt up, fired a burst from the AK-47, then dropped down again.
