by Allan Cole
Ann heard Ah Beng’s voice boom through the glare, “We can finish this nicely…” he said.
Her eyes cleared and she saw him step through the door, his machine pistol covering them.
“… Or not so nicely,” he added. “If you and your friends want to live, you only have to give me what I require.”
Ann scoffed at him. “What’s this?” she said. “A new Ah Beng? The Ah Beng who doesn’t lie, cheat, steal and murder? Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe you?”
“Believe this,” Ah Beng said. “I can kill you quickly or slowly. That goes for your newfound little brother as well as your friends.”
Ann shrugged. She held up the empty AK-47 in the surrender position and took a step forward.
“Okay, you win,” she said. “Here.”
And with that, she tossed the weapon straight at Ah Beng. The gangster was bewildered by her sudden, seeming surrender. He reached up to catch the AK with one hand.
But just as he caught it, he realized he’d been tricked. He tried to bring up his pistol to shoot, but Ann had already flung herself across the distance
She slammed into him full force and he reeled back, stunned.
His pistol was ripped from his fist and skittered across the floor.
Ann used her temporary advantage to deliver a ribcracking punch. As he fell back, she exploded into action, delivering a flurry of kicks and punches.
Ah Beng smashed into overhanging wooden shelves, splintering them. But as Ann moved in for the kill, he ripped away one of the boards and slashed at her with its splintered ends.
Ann tried to dodge, but the splinters cut across her stomach, slicing through her shirt and leaving a streak of blood.
As if fired by the sight and smell of blood, Ah Beng roared with fury and piled back into the fight.
For the next few minutes, the fight raged back and forth, with the combatants using every martial arts skill at their command, but with neither one gaining the advantage.
Finally, Ah Beng grabbed a wooden crate and crashed it down on Ann, shattering the wood and driving her to her knees.
A split second later he spotted his pistol and scooped it up, getting ready to fire.
But just before he could squeeze the trigger, a door burst open behind him and howling wind and sheets of rain rushed into the garage.
Ah Beng half turned and there was a small crack! of a silenced pistol.
The Chinese gangster jerked violently, then his eyes glazed over.
He tried to shoot, but instead he plummeted faceforward, his pistol firing harmlessly into the floor.
Ann struggled to her feet, relief washing over her as she saw Frank Holiday standing in the doorway, a gun in his right hand. The other hand was out of sight – beyond the doorway.
“God, Frank,” Ann said. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see you.”
But then she heard Zach call out. “Don’t believe him, Ann.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ann’s eyes widened at the sound of her brother’s voice. Automatically, she stepped back, hands coming up, body shifting into an attack position.
Frank pulled Zach into view, then pushed him into the garage, the pistol aimed at Ann.
Suddenly, everything became quite clear.
“What are you doing, Frank?” Ann said. “Turning traitor at this late date?”
Frank pushed deeper into the garage, then kicked the door closed behind him, shutting out the storm.
“Blame it on the Agency’s poor excuse for a pension program,” he said. “They treat us like common civil servants. You ought to know that. Your father complained about it often enough.”
Frank plucked the Nintendo from Zach’s hands and held it up, like a victory banner. “Here’s my pension plan,” he said.
He indicated Ah Beng’s corpse. “We had a deal from the beginning, but neither of us trusted the other,” he said. “Unfortunately for him, he blinked first.”
He winked at Ann. “Don’t look so sad, kid. You’re a CIA brat. You know that it’s really nobody’s fault. It’s the system.”
While he was speaking, Ruth was moving quietly up and soon she was inches away from Ann.
Ann said, “Yeah, yeah. You taught me all about betrayal when I was still in pigtails. I even remember your favorite poem on the subject: ‘A thousand lies, uncertainties and shame;/ Misinformation, misdirection,/Yet no one is to blame…’”
Ann snorted in disgust. “Who’s to blame here, Frank?” she demanded. “The Agency? The North Koreans? Your greed?”
She made a mocking beggar’s call: “Alms for the sake of Buddha – and Frank Holiday.”
“Doesn’t matter kid,” Frank said. “We’re at the end of it. As Willy The Shake said – all’s well that ends well… Of course, that’s from my perspective. Personally, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now.”
He raised the gun. Ruth nudged Ann – Keep him talking.
Ann said, “Don’t be too quick to judge the situation, oh, friend of my father. From my point of view – even if I’m a dead woman – they’ll be after you.”
She indicated the shot-up room and corpses. “There’s no cleaning crew available to whistle up, Frank. When the CIA cops come, they’ll come looking for you. I’ve met a couple of those knuckle-draggers, and if I didn’t think you were such a rotten shit, I’d be sorry for what they’ll do to you.”
Ruth, meanwhile, had been inching closer to Frank. But whatever she was planning, the distance between her and their betrayer was too far.
Frank caught on. He spotted Ruth moving. “What’s going on here?” he said, amused. “You think you can screw with me?”
He let loose a mocking laugh. “Well, goodbye to all that, bitch. Goodbye to it all.”
At that moment, Zach went wild, lashing out at Frank and grabbing for the gun.
“Don’t you hurt my sister,” he shouted.
He managed to get a grip on the gun, pulling it downward. Frank tried to swat him away, cursing him.
Ruth lunged, jamming the hypo gun against the rogue agent’s chest… fighting… fighting… then feeling soft flesh and pulling the trigger.
Frank yelped as the needle speared into him, emptying its contents.
But he still had strength and momentum enough to swing around, throwing Zach to the side.
He straightened, gun wavering. Trying to get a bead on somebody – Anybody.
Finally, he settled on Ruth. “God damn you,” he growled.
But Ann plunged forward with a devastating punch, which threw Frank partway around.
Then she delivered a flying kick that slammed him into the cement floor face first.
Ann glanced down at him, eyes on fire, ready to strike again. Crush his neck with her instep.
Grind the life out of him.
Whatever was necessary.
Frank groaned and tried to come up.
Ann fought for sanity, then got the rage under control.
“Stay put, Frank,” Ann advised. “Otherwise I might do something we’ll both regret.”
She put her heel against the back of his neck, and shoved him back down – hard. “You, more than me, if you get my drift.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The old food cart vendor turned the sizzling kabobs on the portable grill. “Fish kabobs,” he shouted. “Fresh from the sea and hot from the grill.”
He looked up from his wheelchair at the crowd gathered around the Phoenix House. There were cops, reporters and the just-plain curious.
Debris from yesterday’s storm was scattered about, but on the outside the house looked unharmed, except for a broken window here and there.
Federal agents were also among the crowd, standing out in their starched “leisure” clothing and inappropriate footwear.
“Come and get it, folks,” the vendor cried. “Two bucks a kabob. Fish so fresh it’s R-rated.”
His cries and the delicious smells drew a hungry audience and people crowded around th
e smoky cart.
Despite the wheelchair, the old man worked swiftly and surely, serving up the kabobs, taking money, distributing change and tossing more kabobs on the sizzling grill. Giving them a deft stroke with his garlic-sauce-laden basting brush, and barking out his call: “Fish kabobs. Fresh from the sea and hot from the grill.”
The vendor had long, stringy white hair streaming from under a broad straw hat, and he wore a colorful Hawaiian shirt draped over khaki shorts. Darkened, wraparound senior-citizens sunglasses hid most of his face.
As the vendor served sizzling fish to one young woman cop, he asked, “What’s the story, here, officer? If you don’t mind me asking.”
The cop said, “Bunch of druggies raided the clinic, is what I hear. But one of the gang finked, so the Feds were waiting. Big damned shoot-out. Wished I could have been there.”
The vendor frowned. “Were any of the clinic people hurt?” he asked.
The woman cop shook her head. “Hell, no,” she said. “What could have happened to them? They were surrounded by America’s best.”
She started to put two bucks in the kitty, but Jack Donovan waved her off. “It’s on me, officer,” he said. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you remind me of my little girl.”
The cop laughed. “I’m not so little,” she said.
“Neither is my little girl,” Jack said.
When she was gone, he signaled and a van pulled up. Side doors slid open and a hydraulic ramp was lowered. Jack guided his electric wheelchair onto the ramp.
When he was safely in, his driver - a large Samoan climbed out and hoisted the grill into the back. He was about to shut the doors on Jack, but the old spymaster lifted a hand.
“Hang on, George,” he said. “I want to see what happens next.”
*****
In the Phoenix House, Paul Yano and his chief aide, Alice Hayakawa, had Ann, Zach and the others gathered around them. Remarkably, Mr. Karoda was there as well – grinning and swathed in bandages.
Paul said, “What we have here is a disaster of the first order. Several heroes died last night. And there’s not one of them we can properly recognize.”
Ann’s eyebrows rose. “Heroes?” she said. She put a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “Our father was a hero – there’s no doubt about that now. But unless you put Frank Holiday on trial, no one will ever know.”
Paul sighed a practiced senatorial sigh. “Holiday can’t be tried in a public court. But I can promise you he will go to a prison cell so deep in the earth that Satan’s voice will come from far above.”
Ann looked at her friends. This wasn’t good enough. Not after all they’d been through.
“A few hours ago, revenge was all I could think about,” she said. “Paying back Frank for betraying us. But my father used to say that if you are looking for revenge, better bring two shovels. Because one of the graves you dig will be your own.”
She paused, then added, “But I’ll tell you one thing – one true thing – that could make some good come of all this.”
“And that would be?” Paul asked.
Ann took a deep breath. “We want to keep the Phoenix House open,” she said. “Same deal, okay? A safehouse in return for treating the poor.”
Paul hesitated, but before he could speak, Alice Hayakawa broke in. She said, ”That might present some practical difficulties. I just don’t see how we can-“
Mark elbowed his way in. “Wonder what my story would sell for?” he asked Ms. Hayakawa. “A night of horrors as a CIA safehouse nurse…” He put a big hand to his brow. “Oh, how I suffered. I’ll never recover.”
Ruth said, “To be plain, if Washington wants us to clam up, we want…” she looked at Ann… “Well, whatever Dr. D wants.”
“Keep the clinic open,” Ann said, “And we’ll all be stricken with incurable amnesia.”
Alice started to object, but Paul stopped her. “Okay, you’ve got a deal. But we’re going to have to do some creative explaining.”
*****
Jack’s eyes widened with interest as his old friend, Paul Yano, came out of the house, followed by his daughter, son and their friends – although Mr. Karoda had wisely stayed inside.
At the microphone, Paul said, “Ladies and gentlemen, here’s what we have to report thus far. Common thugs attempted to spoil this neighborhood’s dream of equal health care for all.
“But let me say here and now, that those criminals were foiled by the brave people of the Phoenix House. Despite what these interlopers tried to do – perhaps even because of it - my office will redouble its support for this project.
“I promise you that we stand firmly behind Dr. Ann Donovan who will make certain that this dream rises from the ashes like that fabled bird…”
Jack knocked on the driver’s compartment. “Okay, George,” he said. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
The van doors slid closed and George depressed the accelerator and slowly drove away.
Up on the stage, Ann’s eyes were drawn to the van. She watched it go, and for reasons she couldn’t fathom, she felt a tug at her heart.
THE END
A FATHER AND DAUGHTER COLLABORATION
ALLAN COLE is a best-selling author, screenwriter and former prize-winning newsman. The son of a CIA operative, Cole was raised in the Middle East, Europe and the Far East. His works include The Timura Trilogy, Lucky In Cyprus, Tales Of The Blue Meanie and The Hate Parallax, which he wrote with Russian fantasy master, Nick Perumov. He's also known as the co-author of the popular Sten Series - which he wrote with the late Chris Bunch, who shared these MisAdventures. Allan has published more than two dozen books and sold more than 150 screenplays. For further details visit his website at http://www.acole.com, or see his entries at Wikipedia and the Internet Movie Data Base. (IMDB.com)
DR. SUSAN COLE BECK has dedicated her entire professional career to promoting nutrition, health and wellness. Her thirst for nutritional knowledge has led her to earn a Ph.D. in Nutritional Science, a master’s degree in Traditional Chinese Medicine, a license in acupuncture, and a certificate as a clinical nutritionist. Along the way, she also studied multiple martial arts, receiving a first-degree black belt in the American Polynesian martial art, Limalama. She has used her passion to fuel her career, and is now the Chief Science Officer for a prominent health and wellness company.
