Remembering his own time in sweat shops, the Mandarin expanded into counterfeiting. Not money; that was dangerous. But clothes, DVDs and women’s handbags—getting into this biz was a gift from heaven. He supplied factories with thousands of workers. When free Internet downloads killed the pirated DVD market, the Mandarin decided to open his own handbag manufacturing factory, using his “art of persuasion” to get some of the workers he had recruited for international designers to work for him instead.
While he himself never used or dealt in drugs, he couldn’t help but notice how many users there were in the shanty town, including his own workers. The Mandarin decided to capitalize on this built-in market. He focused on crystal meth and chose to get his product from North Korea. While it wasn’t the cheapest source, their ice was a hundred percent pure. It was reliable, the price was guaranteed, and profits easily calculated.
While it would have been easy to expand into heroin, he saw the devastation that smack caused. The Mandarin didn’t care about the human toll. What he was concerned about was that if his own workers started using the white stuff, there would be a corresponding lack of productivity or an increase in death. He remembered Yao’s admonition, “Dead men make no money.”
The Mandarin knew his limitations. While there were huge profits if he could be the kingpin distributor for either his factory-made goods or the drugs that he got from North Korea, he didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t control it and needed others to help. Yes, he was sorely tempted, but his English was virtually non-existent and he really didn’t trust white people.
But then, Danny from the China Red gang approached him. The younger, brash hipster persuaded the Mandarin to go in with him on a small American shipment of synthetic drugs as an experiment. It was overwhelmingly successful and it was all the Mandarin could do to restrain himself from negotiating a further buy when he met with the North Korean general.
And then, a haunting thought. Was it possible that the drugs that killed his son were from the shipment that he helped put together? There was no way to know and that ate at him all the more.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rayna got up from her seat and stepped to the front. Her eyes made a quick circuit of the room, scrutinizing the group with a mischievous, almost taunting look. All of them were men, ages fifty and up except Mary, but Rayna could see from her ogling that Mary’s mind was in the same gutter as the male guests. She winked coyly and her dress dropped to the floor—she stood tall in an even skimpier bikini than the one that was sent over in the invitation. She jumped onto the table and slowly rotated. Sexuality oozed from every pore of her perfect body. Without saying a word, her message was perfectly clear. I can get into the room of any man with a heartbeat.
She looked upward and inhaled, then jumped to the floor. Her eyes lasered on the group. “You don’t hire me to do the things that you can get from your girlfriends, wives, mistresses or hookers. You hire me because of the things I can do that they can’t… I have more than a hundred kills to my credit. But you don’t hire me for that. You can get anyone…” Rayna pointed to the bodyguards at the side of the room, “…or even do it yourself. You hire me because I can get into places or people that others can’t. I can kill in ways that others can’t. And I have the ingenuity, experience and smarts that others don’t. But, most importantly, I am a leader and there is no task I’m not capable of.”
Rayna picked up her dress and slipped it back on. “I’m former Special Forces. Canadian JTF2, to be exact. Similar to the US Navy SEALs or British SAS. Have you ever heard of Operation Big Box?”
None had.
“Good. Because, if you said ‘yes’ you’d be lying. Afghanistan. Hundred degree heat for months on end. Never knowing if the bulge in the pocket of a kid was a pomegranate or a grenade… never knowing if you were coming back from bringing powdered milk to a starving village… I was stationed at FOB Sunshine. I was always on ‘thirty minutes notice’ to move. Had to snag a few winks whenever I could because, once a mission started, you never knew when or how it would end. It was the end of the poppy growing season, which meant a ton of fighting-age males were going to become available to the Taliban. Also, things were heating up in Kandahar, and I’m not talking about the weather. Insurgents were making their presence felt; too much unrest among the natives who were ready to turn; random unexpected gunfire and explosions from normally peaceful parts of the city; more Taliban dressing like cops and soldiers… Kandahar was a powder keg waiting to explode.”
This was all completely new to the audience. Very little was known about operations in Afghanistan, especially in China where news was often censored.
“Part of our job was to mentor the Afghan National Police (ANP) and the Afghan Provincial Response Company (APRC), a hundred-and-thirty-five illiterate amateurs divided into three platoons. There were times when it was more dangerous to be with them than to fight the Taliban because you could never, ever count on them to deliver. The only ones who really had your back were the other members of your team, or other coalition forces. Like when we got a thirty-second alert to go while we were having lunch. Officially, because it went through the ANP, they were supposed to take charge, but there was no way in hell that would happen. The Taliban attacked on multiple fronts: a police substation, the mayor’s office, a couple of schools. Pistols, machine guns, RPGs and, of course, plenty of suicide vehicles crammed with explosives. They wanted Kandahar to swim in blood... and the bastards sure came close.”
Rayna’s tone became deadly serious. “That was May 9—a pivotal day in my life and the beginning of the reason why I am here today—when I became the first female to lead a special forces unit in combat from any country from anywhere in the world.”
No one uttered a sound, but the expressions on their faces spoke it all. Omigod.
“We were part of a Special Operations Task Force (SOTF) led by Captain Kevin Browning. There were twenty of us in SOTF-99, plus twice that number of APRC. I had almost half under my wing and Browning had the rest. I was pretty stoked for all of three seconds until the responsibility hit me. Especially when I realized that, despite my feelings about the Afghanis, I was responsible for them, too… just as the shit hit the fan. Ten suicide bombers blew themselves up at the governor’s palace compound. We loaded up, jumped in our vehicles and were on the go to Kandahar’s biggest commercial shopping complex just outside the palace. The insurgents had barricaded themselves inside, using it as a central firebase to rain hell on the palace and other buildings in the area.
“Browning coordinated with the Americans for us to assault the building. When we got to our target, there wasn’t much left. I don’t mind telling you I was freaked. I had shopped there before and it was so vibrant, huge and crammed. People selling fruits, rugs, clothes… but now, just debris and body parts everywhere. We dismounted from our light armored vehicles, established a casualty collection point and gingerly made our way to the huge building. Much as we wanted to hurry, we knew that an IED was likely to blow us to bits if we weren’t careful.”
Eyes flashing, Rayna balled her fists tightly and gritted her teeth. “Adding to the problems was that we had lost radio contact with the Americans. What if there had been a change of plans? That happened so often, but we had no way of knowing, so we just continued. We were all shocked when we got there. This mega-mall shopping center was a ghost town. Now that it was empty, it seemed bigger than ever. We all had the same thought. How the hell is our little group going to manage? Thank God for Browning—he’s either the stupidest or bravest guy I ever met. By now the radio started working again and he just called everyone. ‘We’re going in.’ And we all just said, ‘Sure.’”
Rayna stared at the ground, then turned her head back up. “While the Afghans and Americans exchanged fire from outside, we were the only coalition forces inside the building. Browning decided that our best chance was to breach the basement. My team would clear the rooms, while Browning’s secured the entrance and stairwells.
Easier said than done, though. Inside every room might be a hidden insurgent waiting to take your life. Or maybe in any of those random bags was a bomb just waiting to be detonated. We were just about to begin when things got a whole lot more complicated—people dressed in ordinary clothes appeared from nowhere. You could read the fear in the faces of the APRC. Do we really have to do this?”
Rayna shook her head. “Was that kid a young insurgent or someone whose family were peddlers in the complex? Was that woman wearing a suicide vest underneath her loose-fitting clothing? Who knew? We sure didn’t, but we still had a job to do. It took what seemed like forever to sweep the basement in our search for insurgents. We had to be thorough and careful as we went through each unlocked door and poked every large pile of debris. In that hour in the hellhole, we must have found over a hundred million bucks worth of heroin and opium. Right then, I realized that I should quit and become a drug dealer.”
The guests laughed as Rayna grinned. “So we finished the basement and didn’t find anyone. Browning’s group took the first floor, but that’s when we all felt an unseen danger. You know how, in a multi-level mall, you can look down from an upper floor and see the floors and shops below you because there’s all that open space in the middle?”
Spellbound faces throughout the group nodded. There were malls like that everywhere.
“Except this one was a whole lot bigger. The basement was a self-contained floor but from the ground floor on up, there were these huge open areas that you could look down on and spy on anything that might be coming. While Browning’s group was searching for the enemy, mine had their weapons sighted on the upper floors to see if anyone was waiting to take a shot. Was there? No and, because nothing happened to us in the basement, the APRC let down their guard.”
Rayna wagged her head in disgust. “They opened doors without ducking or stepping to the side. Idiots. If there were Taliban there, they never would have stood a chance. The morons wandered freely and quickly through the floor, poking piles of rubble or debris without paying proper attention. We tried to get them to be more careful but they wouldn’t listen. And it only got worse, since we didn’t find any insurgents or explosives on the main concourse or the next floor above it… they grew even more complacent and confident. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. All of us had just made it to the third floor and were about to begin our search when an RPG roared. Machine guns opened fire simultaneously. Bullets whizzed by, rifle fire bursting all around… We were pelted by an onslaught from all sides.”
Rayna pantomimed the sputtering sounds of machine guns firing and the detonation of grenades. “Within a dozen seconds, ten of the locals were dead or injured. Browning got hit trying to pull one of the APRC to safety. The others ducked or sprinted for cover as streams of lead found their targets. ‘Come back,’ I screamed as I shot one of the charging insurgents in the head with my pistol, hoping that would stop them, but those a-holes kept going. It took the rest of SOTF-99 to keep them there. There was one APRC, Ghazi, who was decent. He and I snaked on our bellies to get to Browning. He was bleeding like crazy and was going to go into shock if we didn’t get him out of there fast. We managed to drag him to the stairwell and some of the guys got ready to take him down to the CCP. But, before that happened, Browning rasped, ‘Wait,’ and pointed to me. ‘Rayna’s in charge now.’ I had never heard such foul obscenities in all my life except from our so-called allies. A woman was in charge. And she was young. And she was Chinese.”
Rayna paused and breathed in deeply—the memory of her abrupt promotion was indelibly written into her soul.
“With that, Browning blacked out and a couple of his teammates took him downstairs. Others gathered more casualties while I hugged a wall trying to assess the situation, my first and foremost job as commander. The insurgents had barricaded themselves in a large shop about twenty yards from us. Like many stores around the world that are worried about theft, the shops the enemy chose had metal shutters and iron bars. This made breaching them difficult, but also gave them strong protection while they pumped lead into us. The smartest thing would have been to flush them out with tear gas and then gun them down, but we had no gas masks so this was unfeasible.”
The group was transfixed. All of them were used to causing death, but this was a woman and these were battle-hardened terrorists she was fighting, not the country bumpkins, cheap thugs or corrupt officials that had spines of jellyfish.
“It was getting dark and electricity went out in the complex. While we had night vision goggles, the APRC preferred flashlights. The idiots… Anyway, we hugged the wall to get close so those in the shop couldn’t get an angle on us with good vision. I threw a couple of grenades in front of the store and tried to maneuver us for a better firing angle. But then the APRC idiots turned on their damned flashlights and the Taliban hurled a deluge of automatic fire at us. Rounds whistled by. Grenades exploded. One of our guys got shot right through the eyeball. Instant death. He dropped to the ground, mouth agape, staring wild-eyed with his good eye at the ceiling.”
Rayna paused for a moment, face darkening at the memory. “You never forget stuff like that.”
Her fists balled with anger. “The cowards took off without firing a shot, forcing us to retreat as well. The Taliban must have been as surprised as we were, since they couldn’t react fast enough to cut us down. I gave Browning a call and thankfully he was coherent. He told us we needed to quit with the subtlety and get more firepower. Five minutes later, we got help—a pair of m240 machine guns. Two guys laid down a base fire against the door of the shop, while me and another sniper hoped upon hope that we would get a chance for a shot. No luck. But the tracers and grenades did at least start a fire, which only riled up the bad guys. Return fire ripped through the broken window panes from the shop toward us. Then someone tossed a grenade through the holes in the window.”
She threw up her hands to accentuate the blast. “BOOM! Confusion, yelling, gunfire ripped the air again. Screams told us that another man was down and we returned a long, heavy burst of fire in the direction of the shop, but I had no idea if we hit anybody or not. Thick, black smoke choked us, which gave me another idea… If we couldn’t see the insurgents’ shop, that also meant they couldn’t see us. I got half a dozen of us to grab a bunch of grenades and told the remaining APRC to go in the opposite direction and keep firing and pitching grenades—they were going to be our distraction. This was a move that had to be done fast because it would be easy to get caught. We raced through the black smoke and into a shop two stores away from where the insurgents were holed up.
“I chucked a grenade at the front door and we raced in before the shrapnel stopped zinging. Then another grenade. BOOM! We raced into the store next to the shop and just tossed grenades through the damaged wall like we were paid per blast. The grenades gave the whole area a weird reddish glow, like something out of hell. I managed to sneak a look inside the shop after a few minutes. They had an arsenal capable of taking down a small town. Rifles, grenade launchers, flame throwers and something I definitely didn’t think I was going to see—bayonets. These guys were ready for everything. With the APRC’s racket, the insurgents must not have noticed our initial grenades in the other shops. By the time we were on them... it was too late. It took hours to pick through the wreckage and bag all the body parts, but at least we didn’t have to deal with any prisoners.”
Arthur. Rayna. These guys are for real.
The same thoughts echoed through the room from all the guests.
Except for one.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You’re full of crap,” piped up the sole white face in the attendance. “You look more like a two-bit hooker than a Navy SEAL. And there’s no way anyone’s gonna trust you with a boatload of smack.”
With lightning speed, Rayna reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a martial arts flying star. She jettisoned the pentangle missile at a huge, scarred black hulk who stood behind the white guest, hitting him in the chest with
such force that the sharp edges slashed through his shirt and jacket—blood gushed out of the wound.
Rayna then leapt onto the long table, tore down a few steps and did a handspring, spreading her legs. As she descended, she wrapped her legs around the white man’s neck and twisted. By the time he hit the ground, he was motionless. From another fold, Rayna pulled out a hypodermic needle and moved it toward his temple as Arthur stepped toward her.
“No, no,” simpered the fallen attendee.
Arthur took Rayna’s hand and pulled it away. He pointed to the white man. “Go.”
The Caucasian and his black bodyguard got up and headed to the door. Just before he exited, the white man turned and gave Arthur and Rayna the finger. “We should have killed you people when we had the chance.” With that, the duo huffed out.
Arthur exhaled and addressed the remaining group. “I hate white people. I’ll take their money but never, ever be their friend.”
Arthur’s racist comment broke through the uneasiness that had descended upon the room. Every person of color, no matter their wealth, professional or social status, had been the victim of racism at some point.
Arthur held up his hands to stop the clapping. “But money is money. And I will work with whoever and whatever to make it. And, if you want to make inroads in America, be prepared to do a deal with the devil.”
The door opened and the Caucasian and black man re-entered.
“Meet my associates from America, Barry and Chuck. Barry works with me on the deal making and Chuck is involved in our operations. Thank you for coming to lunch. Please feel free to stay behind as we are happy to answer any of your individual questions.”
***
The Mandarin's Vendetta (Rayna Tan Action Thriller Series Book 2) Page 8
