by H L Stephens
"Why come to me?" Dú jiàn asked. "Why not go to the DEA? They too have an army of men."
I watched this surly reptile curl in upon herself ready to strike. Her expression was one of extreme confidence. My next answer would either make or break the deal between us.
"Honestly, ma'am, the DEA doesn't give a damn about your granddaughter," I said, emphasizing each and every word, "anymore than they care about the other Chinese girls that were taken and murdered. Do you see them buzzing around the other families investigating what happened? No. Because they don't care. I, on the other hand, do care. Meiqiang is my friend. What happens to her matters a great deal to me. My entire family was murdered in front of me when I was a little girl. I watched them being butchered by men just like the ones who took Meiqiang. I was too little to do anything to save them, but I can do something to save my friend now. Part of that involves asking you for your help.
"The people I am close to want to help Meiqiang too, but they don't have the manpower to accomplish what needs to be done. They would never make it past the front gate of that plant by themselves. They are willing to risk their lives to save Meiqiang if you are willing to step off your jade throne for a second and trust someone outside your precious Triad circle. Now what is it going to be? Will you help us save Meiqiang?"
I watched the old viper wrestle with her coils, waiting for her response. I had challenged Dú jiàn in her lair. It was a brazen maneuver, and it was stupid, according to Dorthia, who whispered an incessant commentary in my ear. Being stupid did not prevent it from being effective.
"My husband was murdered in front of me many years ago along with so many of my friends," Dú jiàn said. "I could do nothing for them at the time except stand and watch. I was arrested for crimes against the government and spent eleven years in a Chinese prison. It was in prison the Triad became my family. They saved me from the sorrow that overwhelmed my soul. They gave me purpose and helped protect what remained of my family on the outside when I could not be there myself. I feel the passion you have for my granddaughter. Friendship can cause a person to risk much. I will help you save Meiqiang for I love her as fiercely as a dragon loves its offspring. She is my legacy, and she has been taken by men who would steal that from me. Tell me of your great plan little Jane."
The smile Dú jiàn gave me was genuine, but an edge of deadly intent still lingered upon her features.
"A young Chinese girl I know has volunteered to be used as bait," I began. "She will be wired with tracking devices to ensure we can monitor where she is at all times. Once she is taken by the Brotherhood and brought to the site, she will break free and locate Meiqiang. In the meantime, our combined forces will gather for a coordinated attack on the exterior of the plant. Once our girl on the inside gives the all clear, we hit the Russians with everything we've got. We get Meiqiang out of there and teach those bastards a lesson they will never forget."
"You have my pledge," Dú jiàn said. "My men are at your service and will be where you need them, when you need them. I have but one request in all of this."
"What is that?" I asked.
"I would like to meet the young girl who would risk herself to save my granddaughter," she said. I started to protest that time might not permit such a thing. "I insist. I have something I wish to give her for her journey."
"As you wish," I replied.
We set a time and place for the Triad army to meet up with the crew in preparation for the attack. It had to be close enough to the chemical plant for a rapid strike but far enough away not to draw the Brotherhood's attention. An abandoned building located not far from the main plant was selected as the rendezvous point.
My stomach turned to mush as I bid the deadly Dú jiàn goodbye. I had made my bed and now I must lie within its poisoned sheets. I just prayed I would be good enough as YanMei to fool this deadly, gracious viper.
Gone Without a Fight
When I got back to the warehouse, Dorthia was gone.....again.
"She just ran to pick something up around the corner," Jameson said. "She'll be back before you know it."
"What is she getting that is so important she leaves right before our op?" I asked.
All I got several shrugs from the guys. When I asked her earlier how her trip to the wigmaker's had gone, she had been evasive with me and would not allow me to rummage through any of the bundles and bags she had brought back, which was unusual.
"There will be time enough for your curiosities later on," she had said. "Our first priority is to find out about your friend."
Her earlier admonishment made this sudden disappearance seem even more peculiar. Marcus tried to offer me a bit of comfort when he saw me pacing the floor.
"The errand was her own business," he offered, "but she took an ear bud with her when she left. I insisted on that." The smile he gave me helped to put my mind at ease. "I have been monitoring her activities on and off. I believe she will be returning any time now. Why don't you go visit Avery and see what goodies he has for you tonight? In the meantime, I will try to reach Dorthia to let her know you're back."
"Sounds good," I said and ran to the weapons room to meet up with Avery.
Focusing on the details of the op was better than pacing up and down like a worried parent. I needed something else to focus my mind on. Besides, I was ready for Avery's big reveal. He had been developing a few custom weapons for me for some time. The kind of weapons that would be perfect for an op just like this, or so he kept saying.
Avery relished the challenge of building an arsenal into everyday apparel, and my presence in the crew had rekindled a skill which had long remained dormant within him. He was a master craftsman when it came to the art of war, and his proficiency at creating deadly hardware made me increasingly glad he was on my side.
"Hey Avery, Marcus said you had some goodies for me," I said as I ground to a halt in front of his work table.
Avery held up his hand without saying a word. He was just inserting what looked like an ornate patch on the front of a lovely blue frock. He held it firmly in place for a few seconds before looking up.
"Step into the parlor," he said, splaying his hands across the table before him. His face was beaming. "First up, we have this lovely blue frock. Appropriate attire for any young, Asian woman of fashion but with one added bonus. Beneath these seemingly innocuous areas of embroidery are Sem-58 patches. Sem-58 is a hybrid of Semtex but is much more potent in smaller quantities and does not require a blasting cap. At the moment, it is wrapped in a thick layer of polymer plastic that seals it away from the air, making it relatively benign. Remove the protective coating, and the oxidation process begins. Once it oxidizes, it becomes highly unstable and watch what happens."
Avery took a small piece of what looked like yellow modeling clay from a sealed package next to him. He rolled it into a ball, tossed it out into the middle of the open warehouse and waited. I was just about to poke fun at him and his play dough when my thoughts were interrupted by a loud explosion. I got beamed in the back of the head with a small bit of concrete.
"Nice," I said as I rubbed my newly forming bruise.
A small crater the size of a basketball was left in the wake of the mini blast. I looked at Avery and said, "Oz is going to kill you for that hole."
"We'll patch it up later," he said. "Besides, you can thank Jameson for the blast. It is one of his chemical creations. I just figured out how to weaponize it and add it to your wardrobe in the form of these patches. Now, onto the next little goodie. These," he said, holding up what looked like small gray balls, "are miniature pineapple grenades. They work just like the old fashioned MKII models from the 60's, except these are on a much smaller scale and are designed to take a person out in close quarters with minimal damage to the surrounding structure. You pretty much push the little lever, pull the pin, and throw."
I looked at the mini incendiary devices with great interest. They were roughly the size of a small apricot and easy enough to hide in the palm of yo
ur hand. I had seen the larger versions enough times in Avery's collection, but I had never seen these little beauties until now.
"They're cute," I said.
"Don't let their size fool you," Avery replied. "They still pack a whollop. I ordered them from a friend of mine who likes to dabble in experimental armament. He has designed other weapons for me in the past. He is a real artist when it comes to this kind of stuff. I had him makes these specifically for you. He even designed this holster so you can strap them on under your clothes. Pretty nifty if you ask me."
I nodded. I was touched by the thoughtfulness, amazed by the craftsmanship, and a little creeped out that such thoughtfulness surrounded an item that was designed to blow people to little tiny bits.
"Now, moving on to your semi-automatic weapons of choice," Avery continued. "This," he said holding up what looked like a miniaturized machine gun, "is a remake of the mini-UZI developed by the Israeli Army. The original was just under 24 inches in length. This one is less than half that length. It still has a 7 inch barrel, but it is lighter and smaller than its parent. It also has the capacity to break down into smaller components, making it easier to conceal on the body. Watch."
Avery took the mini-machine gun and broken it into its component parts, then restored it into its original state.
"Now you try," he said.
My first attempt was not very successful. I was left with several orphaned pieces after my assembly was complete. After a few more practice runs with Avery guiding me, I was able to disassemble and reassemble the gun without any trouble or stray parts.
"The UZI and its clips will be strapped to your upper thighs," Avery said. "You will need to wear two layers of clothing. The first layer will be a tight, leather tactical suit that has all of your gear strapped on, followed by the looser frock and pants. Thankfully by going with a more traditional Asian style of dress, it allows us a little fudge room."
"This will make for comfortable maneuverability," I mumbled.
"Yeah, kid, it will be a pain in the crapper to carry all this gear concealed under your clothes," Avery said, "but this stuff will save your keester, so stop whining and appreciate the beauty of what I am doing here."
"Sorry, Avery," I said. "Please continue."
"This," Avery said, moving onto the next weapon in what was to be part of my body arsenal, "is the Ruger LCP Pistol. It is compact enough for you to conceal around your ankle. It is semi-automatic, but it only holds 6 rounds, so the ankle straps I have for you to wear are designed to hold extra clips. You will have one strap to carry the gun along with two clips and another strap that is capable of holding four more clips. Since I know how much you like knives, I have a real treat for you."
Avery held up twin blades. They were long and thin, about a foot in length from blade tip to handle's end. The blade at it broadest point was no wider than an inch. As I gazed upon these weapons from an all but forgotten era, a sense of battles won and lost washed over me like a wave. I knew they were old, but I could not determine their age or origin.
"What are they," I asked.
Avery laughed.
"I thought these might interest you," he said. "Many a collector would give their left arm to get their hands on one of these. They are original Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knives from WWII. They were the elite forces' fighting knives. When a commando went onto the battlefield, they carried one of these. They may be long, but they are easy to conceal against the body. They are going to be strapped against your back so the handles will be accessible to you just above your lower back. You will also have a standard Ka-Bar Becker Combat Bowie knife for fast slash, but I am telling you kid, these F-S fighting knives will become a favorite."
Avery's voice got almost gooey with the last statement.
"I won't get tetanus or gas gangrene from those blades, will I?" I asked. "I have read stories about people getting weird crap from antique weapons."
Avery rolled his eyes at me and groaned as if I was a baby that had soiled my diaper right after he had changed it.
"Do you really think I would give you a weapon to use that could be a hazard to your health?"
When I didn't answer immediately, Avery groaned again. He was just about to launch into some kind of rant when Marcus interrupted him over the com system.
"You guys need to come down here to the ops center," Marcus said.
"I haven't finished giving the kid the tour of her weapons," Avery protested.
The truth was Avery wasn't finished reaming me over my comment. He took his weapons very seriously and did not like having his integrity called into question where they were concerned.
"Now!" Marcus yelled.
Marcus never yelled. In fact, I didn't think his phlegmy lungs had it in them, but apparently when the need arose, he could bellow like a drill sergeant. Avery's face took on a hardened appearance. It wasn't directed at me, but I could tell by his expression that something was terribly wrong.
"We're on our way," Avery said to Marcus. Then to me he said, "Move it kid. I don't like the tone in Marcus' voice."
We ran all the way to the ops room. For a guy with such a diminutive stature, Avery could run like a gazelle. I struggled to keep pace with him, and I had been a top track runner back at Parsonville High.
When we joined Marcus, he was sitting in front of the giant wall screen in his command chair. Oz and Jameson were already with him. All three men were visibly shaken and pale as sheets. A single image was frozen on the screen. Upon closer inspection, my stomach churned and the hairs all over my body stood on end to a painful degree. The image was of Dorthia standing on the street in front of a bodega not far from the warehouse.
"What is this?" Avery asked when we came in. "What's going on?"
"Just watch," Oz said. His tone was flat, as if the stuffing had been knocked right out of him.
Marcus played the video. To my horror, I watched as Dorthia was grabbed off the street and shoved into an awaiting van. It happened so fast, I almost missed it. Marcus played it over and over until I thought I was going to eject my lunch all over the floor.
"That's enough," Avery said, but Marcus just left it playing in a perpetual loop like he was caught in some kind of terrible trance by the horrific image of his friend being kidnapped.
"I said turn off the damn video," Avery screamed. He rushed Marcus and grabbed at the console of his chair, desperately searching for the off switch.
"Okay, okay," Marcus said, and hit some innocuous, unmarked button that froze the screen at the moment when a black hood was being slipped over Dorthia's head.
I kept running the images through my head like an annoying song. How could she be taken like that? She was an assassin for Pete's sake. Perhaps the best in the business, yet she was nabbed right down the road from her home. How could it happen?
I replayed each image in slow motion, and the more I analyzed it, the more I realized the entire kidnapping was beautifully orchestrated. This was no ordinary snatch-and-grab. This was carried out by a mastermind who knew exactly how to capture someone like Dorthia. Someone who knew what Dorthia was.
By the time I reached my epiphany, Marcus, Avery, and Oz were in a momentous argument. Attempting to get their attention was like trying to reason with a group of killer bees after you had jostled their nest.
"Guys.....um.....guys.....I really need to tell you something important."
I was being drowned out by the back-and-forth of name calling and finger pointing that was going on amongst the lot. I had never heard such inventive terms like ninnyhammer or smellfungus used before, and definitely not with the kind of gusto that was being applied by the members of the crew who were involved in the argument. It sounded like an eighteenth century duel of words. When Marcus filleted the others with mumpsimus, the need for immediate intervention became clear.
"Guys!" I yelled. I used every ounce of lung capacity I had in that one word to get their attention, and I almost wet my pants in the process. All three of them turned to
look at me. At first I thought they might focus their collective negative energies on me, but I didn't give them time to regroup before I launched my theory into the ether.
"Listen to me for half a second, and then you can go back to your Medieval name calling. This wasn't just a typical run-of-the mill waylay. This was a highly orchestrated effort to take Dorthia. Whoever did this knew what she was."
"What are you talking about?" Oz asked. "I don't see anything in the video that suggests anything more than Dorthia taking her eye off the bubble and the enemy getting the drop on her."
"Watch your mouth," Avery snapped.
"Look at the video feed Marcus showed us," Oz snapped back. "It's like she doesn't even know those guys are coming. What would you call it if not carelessness on Dorthia's part?"
The argument between the two headstrong men was beginning to escalate once more, and my point had to be made before they killed each other over the situation.
"You are wrong Oz," I continued at the top of my lungs as if I was attempting to talk over the din of a cafeteria brawl, "Dorthia was already incapacitated well before those men came along."
Both Avery and Oz stopped in their tracks.
"Glad I have your attention now," I said. "Marcus, please re-queue the video feed but slow it down y half and go back to the moment before the woman with the baby carriage passed Dorthia. And is it possible to enhance the video at all? The images are grainy. There are a few details I would like to see more clearly."
Marcus did as I asked and rewound the feed to a few seconds before a stranger passed Dorthia.
"Let me run this through my scrubber," Marcus said. "It will take a minute or two but it should help clear things up somewhat. The camera that caught this footage is digital, making it easier to backfill the pixels as we enlarge the image." I could see the frozen picture of Dorthia begin to sharpen, lending greater details to her surroundings. "There we are. This is as good as it is going to get. I could do better if we had more time. Now, let me know if you want me to slow this down any further, Jane."
