The Thieves of Legend

by Richard Doetsch

  With unexpected power, Jacob kicked outward, swept out the feet of the largest boy, the aggressive alpha, knocking him to the ground. And as he jumped to his bare feet, the three others dove upon him, but this time it was different. Jacob spun about in a whirl of kicks and jabs, his movements turning his aggressors’ momentum upon themselves.

  His blows were direct and harsh, shattering jaws, breaking noses and arms—something the three underlings had never experienced.

  The alpha leaped to his feet, knife in hand. Jacob saw anger and fear in the teen’s eyes, a wanton lust to kill. But Jacob didn’t turn and run. He centered himself, his mind free of thought, allowing his body to react.

  As the older teen lunged at him, Jacob blocked his attack, snapping his attacker’s wrist as he snatched away the blade. And in a series of lightning-quick moves, Jacob turned the knife on his assailant. He slashed him about the body, legs, and arms, neck and face, shallow strokes neither deadly nor debilitating, though horrific in appearance. Blood flew about in a mist as Jacob handled the weapon like a master. The three others, broken and helpless, looked on in horror as their friend was disfigured before them.

  As the teen fell to the ground, beaten, bloodied, and humiliated, Jacob stood over him, his heart swelling with pride, a newfound ego resulting from the power he realized he possessed. He could take life from others, like a child crushing a bug.

  In that moment, looking down at what was now his victim, he thought of his mother lying dead in the street at the hands of someone like the teen before him. He thought of his father and what he had done to him: killing his mother, robbing him of everything. It at once emptied his heart of feeling, leaving him hollow inside, while filling him with unbridled rage.

  And with those feelings coursing through him, he leaned down and slashed the teen’s throat as if the boy were his mother’s killer, or his father. He would not give this street thug the opportunity for retribution; he would not let him attack another innocent.

  Jacob turned and walked to the other teens, who lay there in horror at their friend’s death. He took back his shoes, his bag, and his shirt. He finally leaned down and whispered in perfect Mandarin, “Speak of this to anyone and I will hunt each of you down. While your friend’s death was quick, yours will not be.”

  JACOB CAME OF age. He told Kwon what had happened and the matter was swept away. No mention in the paper, no police investigation, just rumors in hushed tones of a new member of the Snake Triad.

  And with Jacob’s first kill, Kwon renamed him. He was not a gwailo; his Anglo-Saxon name of Jacob Lucas would be cast aside. Kwon explained that he must embrace his culture, embrace who he truly was. He called him Xiao Yan Wang, a name that combined the words for a mythical demon of the mountains and the Chinese god of death.

  CHAPTER 24

  BEIJING

  KC entered the hotel suite and saw a cache of weapons spread out on the large four-poster bed. Two Galil sniper rifles, three Glock 9mms, four radio earpieces with subvocal mics. There were also two black outfits, dark stocking caps, a mousy-brown wig, several ropes, grappling hooks, and two sheathed knives.

  Annie picked up a pistol and threw it to KC, who caught it but immediately dropped it on the bed.

  “Skittish, are we?”

  “No guns,” KC said.

  “No guns… ? Really? How long do you think we’ll survive in there without guns?”

  “I will not carry a gun.”

  Annie stared at her a moment, then changed direction. “How was lunch?”

  KC held up Jenna’s security card.

  “Nice.” Annie smiled. “Maybe you won’t need a gun.”

  KC took a seat at the small dining table in the corner and laid out a large map marked up with red ink: multiple points of entry, multiple points of exit. “We can’t enter from the western wall, too much traffic and too many buildings with windows that look out on it. The entrance two hundred yards north of the southeast corner has the most shadow coverage. But we are going to need a diversion.”

  “What kind and where?”

  “Something that’s going to hold people’s attention for at least a minute on the streets opposite the southeast corner. That section of the wall may be shadowed, but it won’t make us invisible. We need to pull people’s eyes away from us or we won’t even get over the wall.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “That’s your department, but you better make it big and far from boring.”

  “The one thing I’ve never been is boring.”

  KC stared at the map, committing it to memory so she would know every corner, every door as if it were her own home. She finally looked up to see Annie staring at her.

  “What?” KC said abruptly.

  Annie pointed at her nose.

  KC reached up and touched her nose, drawing her finger away to find several drops of blood. “What the hell?”

  KC went into the bathroom, grabbed a tissue, and blotted her nose. She looked in the mirror, studying her face as if that would somehow reveal the cause of her bloody nose. She shook her head and went back to the table.

  “You okay?” Annie said.

  “Fine.” KC turned back to the map, running her finger along the red route she had sketched out. “This way keeps us in the shadows—”

  “And if a guard spots us?”

  “Not if we spot him first. We go in staggered; you lie on a roof, confirming a clear route. I move and then I spot for you.”

  “And you still didn’t answer my question. What if a guard spots us, the whole thing is done?”

  KC didn’t answer.

  “There is going to be blood whether you like it or not.”

  KC had never hurt anyone except in self-defense.

  “If it makes you feel any better, the blood will be on my hands,” Annie said. “Not yours.”

  KC looked at the bloodied tissue in her hand; she knew Annie’s words were far from the truth.

  COLONEL LUCAS AND Sergeant Reiner checked into their suites at the Venetian. Reiner made a quick sweep of the colonel’s room, ensuring there were no bugs or other devices.

  Lucas flipped open his cell phone and dialed.

  “You made it?” Jon asked in answer.

  “Where are you?”

  “Just picking up some supplies, I’m in downtown Macau.”

  “A Sergeant Reiner has joined us; I need you to give him a full briefing on where we are.”

  “I’ll be back within two hours.”

  “Good, you can brief me on our progress then, unless we are off schedule, in which case you’d better tell me now.”

  “We’re good on this end,” Jon said as he hung up the phone.

  “We’ll meet with Jon Lei in two hours,” Lucas said to Reiner. “We’ll eat then. But first…” Lucas handed him a memory stick. “You need to read this, know what and who we are dealing with. I will expect you to be an expert on this material by this evening.”

  “Yes, sir,” Reiner said.

  “And seeing you’re here as my assistant, you can assist me by saving me a trip to our safe house on the other side of town to pick up a file.”

  “Of course,” Reiner said as he nodded. “May I ask you something?”

  “Go ahead,” Lucas said as he threw his bag on the bed and unpacked in military fashion, moving his clothes into the drawers of the vacant dresser.

  “Xiao…”

  “Yes?”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Do you mean did I kill him on that boat?”

  “Yes.”

  Lucas finished putting his things away, closed the drawer, and turned to Reiner.

  “I left him to suffer and die. As unbecoming as that sounds coming from the lips of an officer, I didn’t think this man deserved the easy death of a bullet. He has walked this earth for decades above the law, killing, torturing as he sees fit.

  “I came across him once, unaware of who he was. He killed a man before my eyes without emotion, without remor
se…” Lucas became lost in thought.

  “Sir, do you believe he is here in Macau?”

  “Yes, I do. And yes, he is going to try to kill me. He is going to want me to suffer in the same way I made him suffer. He’ll try to kidnap me, ensnare me in some trap, poison me… But it won’t be on the grounds of the Venetian. He won’t cross that line.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because he’s going to want to send a message with my death. The security team at the Venetian are experts at covering up crimes that occur here; it wouldn’t even hit the papers. He’ll try to grab me outside, on the street, between here and the airport.”

  “That doesn’t mean we let our guard down,” Reiner said.

  “Don’t forget, we have a large advantage.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He has no idea I’m even in the country. But, Sergeant, if you see him, don’t make the same mistake I did. You shoot that man on sight.”

  CHAPTER 25

  1974

  Highly intelligent, educated, yet possessing the feral quality of a dog from the street, Xiao rose through the ranks of the Snake Triad, through promotion and death. While his uncle was its leader, Kwon did not deal in favoritism, as decisions based on the heart were the first step to losing control. Nonetheless, Xiao had achieved a level of discipline, skill, and ruthlessness that Kwon couldn’t have predicted or planned, rising to his second in command in a matter of years.

  Xiao attended university in Hong Kong, studying warfare, international relations, accounting, and statistical analysis. He was what his uncle called the “new breed.” The cultural revolution of the sixties and seventies was sweeping the world, and Xiao would help his uncle usher in the new age. But it would be an age that his uncle would never see.

  Kwon had arrived home late, gripping the custom wood steering wheel in his ring-encased fingers. He loved to drive his ’64 Corvette hardtop; it was his favorite, and he had no taste for those who thought themselves worthy of being chauffeured about.

  He pulled up to his home in the Ju Wong district after concluding a meeting in which his operation had successfully taken over a territory formally held by his rival. It had been a bitter dispute but had been resolved in a face-to-face meeting without bloodshed, at which both sides agreed that Kwon was the rising force better equipped and more worthy of controlling the drug trade.

  As Kwon pulled into his driveway, the bomb tore the silver sports car apart, shredding the fabric of the night, the fireball rolling up into the sky. The heat of the blast ignited the wooden benches on his lawn, melting the plastic façade of the small pagoda in his yard. As the smoke cleared, as the neighbors came running, everyone saw that there was nothing left of the vehicle, nothing left of Kwon but the charred remains of his favorite hat and the blackened rings from his left hand.

  TAO WAS THE leader of the Tiger Triad, a man of sixty who was equally adept at cards and death, a man who controlled the old casinos and drug trade, who dressed in Western clothes yet insisted on wearing his prized sword at his side like some forgotten warrior. His gang was the chief rival of Kwon’s Snake Triad, and while his power was waning, he was happy to send a message that he was not weak. Kwon had thought his new modern style of negotiations—business meetings at which statistics and margins took the place of muscle—was the future, but Tao knew the way to success was always through the past.

  Xiao entered the run-down casino through the rear door. While the small main floor had its share of one-armed bandits, mahjong, and card tables, it was on the upper floors in the private rooms where the legend of Macau’s gambling had been created over the last hundred years. While tourists came from Hong Kong to gamble the night away, getting drunk and boarding the ferry back, it was the private clients, those with money to burn, who filled the private rooms and stayed for days on end.

  Two guards flanked a small concierge desk, their large shoulders stretching their pin-striped suits.

  Xiao stepped through the door, his raised pistol exploding bullets, shattering the two hulking doormen’s heads before either man could react. Before the bodies had hit the floor, he disappeared into the fire stairs.

  Tao’s men raced down the stairs, but by the time they saw Xiao, bullets had already careened their way, killing them on the spot. Xiao exploded out the third-floor door, ducking as he entered the hallway, his position surprising the two men who flanked the door at the end of the hall. But their surprise was short-lived as a hail of bullets took them both out.

  Xiao kicked in the door to find four men playing cards in a smoke-filled room, stacks of chips piled before each of them as they each sipped a glass of wine. Without hesitation, Xiao raised his pistol and shot them all dead except for the man with the most chips. He was dark-skinned, a hint of Portuguese in his Chinese eyes. He smoked a thin hand-rolled cigarette while barely paying mind to the dead bodies that now sat around him.

  “Xiao, the gwailo that now heads his uncle’s Triad. Are you here to thank me for your promotion?”

  Xiao walked up to the man, assessing him as he approached.

  And Tao stood. Not a large man but exceedingly well built for a man of sixty. He was dressed in loose-fitting pants and a tweed sport jacket; at his side was a dao, a sword encased in a highly polished black sheath.

  Xiao glared at the man and smiled. There were eight bodies left in his wake; this would be one more and most certainly not his last. He aimed his gun at the old man’s face.

  Three guards burst through the door, but Tao raised his hand, staying their actions. “Perhaps you are wiser than your uncle. Being of mixed blood, you walk in two worlds. But you must realize that there must be a balance in life, embracing the old and the new as one circle, the yin and yang. Your uncle wanted it all, wanted to forget who I was, what I represented. We can forge an alliance, create a Triad that would allow us to coexist.”

  Xiao walked into Tao’s space, up in his face. The three guards, despite their orders, moved in on Xiao, encircling him just feet away. But Tao was not a man who played games or let others dictate his fate. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a 9mm pistol, aiming it at Xiao.

  With his hand gripped tightly about his own pistol, aiming it at Tao, Xiao knew as soon as he pulled the trigger the three guards would fire.

  “Perhaps we can sit and discuss—”

  But there would be no discussion, no witty repartee.

  With lightning speed, Xiao snapped out his left hand, ripping the sword from Tao’s side, and in a fluid motion, before the three men could pull their triggers, he spun about, the blade humming through the air, slicing them each across the belly, spilling their insides, their hands grasping their stomachs vainly trying to hold on to their lives.

  Tao focused, his finger wrapping around the trigger, but Xiao’s motion had already spun him 360 degrees, and with the blade continuing its arc of death, he angled the dao and sliced Tao’s wrist, severing muscle and tendon, the gun now clutched in the useless grasp of his dangling hand.

  The following morning, a wooden box arrived at the Macau Daily, addressed to the editor-in-chief. As it was unmarked, the bomb squad was called in; their sniffing dogs indicated there was no explosive but reacted nonetheless. The box was finally opened, and to everyone’s horror, Tao’s head was drawn from the box—an announcement that there was a new leader of the Tiger Triad.

  CHAPTER 26

  MACAU, PRESENT DAY

  The lower level of the underground facility was dark, windowless, and in the center of Macau. The basement level was simple: a large open room with couches and a TV; a small office; a bedroom; and a ten-by-ten empty room with a single chair and nothing else but a bare lightbulb on the ceiling and a drain in the center of the floor.

  Three men stood before a desk in the office, dressed in dark clothes, their arms and necks covered with tattoos, listening intently to the man before them. It was the first time they had ever seen the man—they had always answered to lower members of the Triad—and
they had actually thought of him as a ghost, as some legendary being who could rip the heart out of his enemies with a whispered thought.

  Their assignment was simple. They had spent the last year on debt collections but had been chosen to carry out this one task. Each of them knew that when he succeeded it would afford him a greater honor within the triad.

  “It is understood, you are not to kill him,” Xiao spoke quickly in Chinese. “You are to bring him to me. If he dies in your hands you will suffer the fate that I have waiting for him.”

  Xiao stood before them, his shirt on the desk beside him. He was tattooed with a large demonlike beast, the centerpiece of a horrific tapestry that wrapped his torso. He wound fresh gauze around his muscled stomach, redressing a large burn, the fresh scar tissue seeming to melt his skin, corrupting the tattoo into an even more frightening scene.

  He turned back to his men, his point made, and dismissed them with a nod of his head.

  Xiao was considered the most powerful man in Macau, his business interests stretching from gambling, prostitution, and immigrant trafficking to kidnapping, drugs, and credit-card fraud; from software piracy, pornography, and counterfeiting to politics, finance, and real estate. He owned the building he was currently in along with thirty others throughout the city. His illegal operation had no seat of operation but rather floated through a random series of locations depending on the day of the month, much like the emperors of old who never slept in the same bed in the palace so as to keep their enemies guessing.

  While his criminal dealings were spoken of in hushed tones, there was never any direct evidence of his involvement; prosecutors, law enforcement, and Interpol had fruitlessly tried to connect him to any of a multitude of illicit enterprises but had failed. To some he was a legitimate businessman who supported the community, to politicians he was a man who could ensure an election, while to others he was the all-powerful leader of the Snake Triad.