Tiger by the Tail

by John Ringo

  Mike shook his head. “That’s the trouble with both you guys—a distinct lack of imagination. Remember what I said about Asian women during the pirate op, Ass-boy?”

  “What? Wait . . . oh yeah.” Adams’ mouth curved into a devilish smile. “Well, Chal did say we could take anything with us that we could get off the island . . .”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Mike, Adams, and Jace rounded the corner of the gang headquarters and staggered toward the entrance. Dressed in off-the-rack clothes and passing a bottle of cheap whiskey back and forth, they all reeked of booze and talked loudly at and over each other.

  “—then I said, then I said, then I said—you can take that goddamn TPS report and shove it up yer ASS!!!” Mike bellowed, making Adams and Jace both howl with laughter. They hadn’t gone a dozen more steps before they were surrounded by clouds of cheap perfume, brought their way by the half-dozen Thai, Korean, and Vietnamese whores surrounding them. The girls all giggled and screamed as they mock-fought over the three Americans.

  “Hey, ladies! Guys, I think we found the place we’re lookin’ fer!” Mike said.

  “—Ohh, you have big muscles!” A lean Thai hooker exclaimed as she felt his arm. “You come inside and party!”

  “Damn straight!” Adams seconded the idea.

  “Your friends come too! We show you all good time!” A tiny Vietnamese whore had snuggled up to Adams and was vigorously rubbing his crotch.

  “Yeah, we got everything inside—booze, smokes, weed, coke, whatever you need. We party all night long!” An unusually tall Chinese prostitute had gotten her lacquer-nailed hands on Jace, and was rubbing his chest while alternating whispering into and licking his ear.

  “I think we jes’ found that party we were lookin’ fer!” Mike slurred, to fresh cheering from the other two. He looped his arm around the girl. “Come on, swee’heart, and show me a good time!”

  Whooping and hollering, Adams and Jace also selected one or two of the streetwalkers and brought them to the brothel entrance. There, two of the enforcers stopped the trio and held up their metal detectors. “Must scan before enter,” one said in barely understandable English.

  “Do what you gotta do, bud! Jus’ as long as it don’t keep me from doin’ what I’m gonna do!” As he said that, Mike grabbed a handful of his whore’s tit, getting more shouts and catcalls from the other two. “Let’s go, boys!”

  Each man dutifully managed to stand upright long enough for the metal detector scan. While fondling his chosen whore, Jace was listening to the conversation between the girls and their protection.

  “More drunk Americans. Probably have money. We fuck them, drug and rob them, dump them on main road again,” one said quickly.

  The man she spoke to nodded. “Just don’t kill them this time,” he replied as he pushed a button beside the door. It opened, and Mike, Adams, and Jace walked inside the gang’s HQ.

  * * *

  “All right, they are in.” Oleg said. “Everyone watch their tablets, map out as much of interior as you can. When we go in, I do not wish to do so blind as a bat.”

  Beside him, Givi shook his head. “I know the Kildar has balls, but they must be as large as an ox’s to go in to a place like this with nothing but that little pigsticker.”

  Oleg didn’t take his eyes off his tablet, having split the screen so he could keep an eye on what Mike was doing as well as the door of the building. “The Kildar knows what he is doing. Just be ready when he gives the signal.”

  The entire team was clustered in the back of an old, surplus deuce-and-a-half M35 Army truck, sold off after the Vietnam Conflict and converted to civilian use. Chal had bought it simply because he liked the way it looked. Having seen several on the road already, Mike and Oleg knew the moment they saw it that they had found the perfect vehicle to keep Team Jayne onsite yet out of sight.

  The video feed on Oleg’s tablet jerked and faded as the pinhole button camera on Mike’s shirt was occasionally obscured by his jacket or couldn’t draw enough light to function, forcing it to occasionally recalibrate. Even so, he got a rough idea of what they would face if they had to make a hard entrance. “Does not look difficult . . . not much small arms visible . . . mostly men getting drunk or stoned. Lasko will eliminate outside pair, we make sure the ice packs are secured on our helmets, then proceed to entry and meet with the Kildar and the others.”

  Oleg hit his mic. “Are you in position, Blue Hand?”

  * * *

  “Affirmative.”

  Four hundred yards away and eighteen stories off the ground, Lasko sat in his climbing harness. It was hooked securely to the supports of a radio tower, the only place where he could get the necessary elevation for the field of fire he might need to traverse. Since it was at a diagonal to the left front corner of the target building, Lasko could cover the front entrance, the entire street in front of it, and the intersecting street on the left side of the building too, which was where Team Inara would make their entrance.

  Tonight he was using the Barrett .50 caliber with a BTX8 reflex suppressor, which he threaded onto the end of the barrel after removing the muzzle brake. Although the suppressor wouldn’t completely eliminate the sound of the shot, it would reduce it from deafening thunder to a more moderate report, like that of a 7.62mm rifle. More importantly, it would also hide his muzzle flash. While Lasko wasn’t concerned about any gang members seeing him, civilians calling the police was another matter entirely.

  He was looking through an ATN Thor-320 4.5x thermal sight, as some of his targets might be behind doors, or even solid walls. He had loaded EBR antiricochet frangible rounds for tonight’s operation, ensuring maximum knockdown power with minimum risk of collateral damage due to over-penetration or fragmentation.

  He was watching the two men out front when he heard two clicks over his radio. The Kildar was authorizing the start of the operation.

  Lasko settled in, snugged the Barrett to his shoulder and peered through the thermal scope at the killing ground below him.

  * * *

  Mike, Adams, and James walked into what could be best described as a sexual smorgasbord.

  The large room they entered looked like a tacky Las Vegas strip club had been airlifted over and dropped on a South Pacific island. Loud K-pop wailed from a 55-inch plasma television on a wall, the incomprehensible lyrics matching the equally frenetic music video playing. Rows of dusty mirrors lined the plywood walls, and glitter and tinsel was strewn everywhere. Stained, sagging couches and chairs lined the walls, mostly hidden under the working girls. The hot, still air was thick with cheap perfume, sweat, smoke, and of course, the promise of inexpensive, available sex.

  Girls and boys of all descriptions were hanging out, dancing, getting high, talking to potential johns, or sizing up the new arrivals. An older, hard-faced madam with iron-gray hair lacquered into place, wearing a red, satin high-collared Chinese dress, and smoking a cigarette in an ivory holder, was watching over everyone with hawklike eyes. Jace spotted a live monkey smoking in the corner, to the stoned amazement of a man and two underage whores who were all pointing and giggling at the animal. He also could have sworn he heard a donkey bray from somewhere farther inside the building.

  “Recognize the tune?” Adams shouted.

  “What—?” Jace focused on it for a second, hearing a familiar guitar riff cut through the wail of over-sweetened synthesizers. “Is that ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ . . . ?”

  “You got it!” Adams shouted, draining the rest of the watered-down whiskey and tossing the bottle aside. “Let’s get to FUCKING!” he bellowed, making the whores and customers all around them cheer.

  A beaded curtain hung on the back wall, flanked by two more skinny, armed gangbangers. Their whores escorted them through it while whispering all kinds of promised delights into their ears. On the other side was a long hallway with curtained-off doorways every several feet, and two more bouncers at the far end, with what looked like the entrance to the second floor
stairway between them. The smell was even ranker back here, and the sounds were of one thing only, although once Jace heard the slap of a hand on flesh, From another booth came a woman’s hard voice ordering her john to lick her shoes in Thai, followed by what sounded like the crack of a riding crop.

  “Don’t take anything they offer. They plan on drugging and robbing us,” Jace subvocalized.

  “Now there’s a surprise,” Adams growled.

  “Stick to the plan,” Mike said. “Ten-count once we’re alone. And don’t forget to hit your cold pack.”

  “Roger that.”

  The three men were each led to their own empty booths and the curtains were pulled shut behind them. Jace counted off the doors and steps he had taken and radioed that to Vanner. He let the girl shimmy past him and start to pour a drink. As she did, he drew his EOD ceramic fixed-blade knife and came up behind her just as she was about to turn back to him.

  Wrapping an arm around her neck, Jace made sure her mouth was covered as he pressed the tip of the ceramic blade to her throat. “Do as I say, and you will get out of this alive. Nod if you understand,” he whispered in Thai.

  Her eyes wide, the woman nodded.

  * * *

  Hearing the command to begin their portion of the op, Yosif checked the street one last time. “Let us know if anyone’s coming, Blue Hand,” Yosif said as he gave the go signal to his team.

  “I will,” the sniper replied.

  One by one, Vanel, Edvin, Marko, and the rest of the Inara squad ran to the rear of the building. All intel gathered had indicated that there was no surveillance or guards on the rear of the building, but all it would take is one hooker or john or gang member to come out in the next few minutes, see the heavily armed and armored assault team, let out a yell, and their advantage would be blown. They had considered executing an insertion from the roof of a nearby building, but couldn’t locate a suitable launch site, so they had gone in from the ground.

  When the rest of his team was in place, Yosif ran over and found the grapnel was up and secure. The first two team members had hauled themselves to the top and established a perimeter. Two more followed, then Marko and Yosif ascended last. Once everyone was on top, Yosif hauled the rope up and secured it, then hustled to the old metal fire door. There he radioed to Vanner.

  “Team Inara ready.”

  * * *

  “All right,” Jace said, feeling the girl’s rapid pulse flutter in her neck like a trapped butterfly. “Stay calm, and you will be all right. We are going to the curtain, where you will call for help. You think I am having a heart attack. I can understand every word you will say. No warnings or hand signals, or you die. Nod again if you understand.”

  As he spoke, he grabbed the portable cold pack from his pocket and crushed it in his hand, making sure the chemicals mixed completely. When the pack was cold, he shoved it in the breast pocket of his shirt, grimacing as the chill spread to his chest. Sure hope this works, he thought.

  At the woman’s second nod, Jace moved her over to the curtain and carefully removed his hand from her mouth, keeping the knife point at the base of her neck. “Remember, call them in and no tricks, otherwise I cut your throat.”

  She nodded and swept the curtain aside. “Chaiya! Han! Come quick! He not getting up! I think he dying!”

  The moment he heard approaching footsteps, Jace hauled her backward and put her in the corner parallel to the door. “Stay there.” Palming the blade, he lay down on the bed. A second later the curtain was shoved aside and two Thais rushed in.

  Jace trembled and clutched his chest. “My heart . . .”

  “Get him up and out of here!” the first man said, going to grab Jace roughly by the arm. As the thug bent over him, Jace brought his hand up and uncovered the three-inch blade, sinking it into the man’s throat. He stiffened, then opened his mouth to cry out, but nothing was heard but a gurgle as his throat filled with blood.

  Pulling the blade out, Jace sat up and shoved the dying man aside. The second guard froze at seeing his partner suddenly fountaining blood and falling over. He grabbed for the pistol on his hip, but Jace got there first.

  Pinning the kid’s hand on his gun butt, Jace slashed the ceramic blade through his throat, spraying a dark fountain of blood across the room. His target vainly tried to stem the warm tide gushing from his neck. Jace plucked the pistol from his belt as he sank to the floor in the middle of a growing red puddle. The punk’s mouth opened and closed in a hopeless effort to draw a final breath.

  Drawing the curtain closed again, Jace snatched the first dead guard’s pistol and quickly patted both bodies down, finding an extra magazine on each. The two pistols the guards had been carrying couldn’t have been more different; an ancient M1911 .45 and a Spanish Astra 600 9mm. Jace glanced at the prostitute, who was huddled in the corner with both hands over her mouth. “Do you want to leave here?” he asked.

  She stared at him until he repeated the question. Then she nodded. “All right. Stay right here. Do not come out no matter what you hear. I will come back for you.”

  Keeping her in his peripheral vision, just in case she tried to stab him in the back, Jace went to the curtain and peeked out. He saw Mike in the doorway across the hall and nodded.

  The Kildar checked left and right for observers, then quickly crossed. “What you got?” Jace presented both guns, and Mike took the .45 and quietly checked the action. “It’ll do.” He took the spare mag and tucked it under his shirt. “Anything else?”

  “No radios.” Jace jerked a thumb at his whore. “She’s coming with.”

  “Yeah, so’s mine. Hopefully Adams kept his mind on why we’re here, and isn’t knocking boots right now,” Mike replied.

  “Hey, where the hell is everybody?” Adams asked over their short-range comms.

  “In Jace’s room,” Mike answered.

  The master chief burst in a moment later, brandishing a chrome-plated .357 Magnum revolver. “Check this shit out!”

  “Damn, guess you win the arms race. Where in the hell did you get that?” Jace asked.

  “Bitch tried to get the drop on me, can you imagine that shit?” Adams asked. “She could barely hold the damn thing. Stole it from a john on the street and smuggled it inside. I did not ask where she hid it. She was just staying here ’til she could squirrel away enough to get out for good. I took it and told her she’s leaving tonight with us.”

  “All right, now we take out the front hall guards while Lasko hits the doormen and Jayne rounds up anyone still outside. Try to avoid shooting until you have to—” Mike glanced toward the main entry room. “Although the music might cover it, so do what you have to do. When the shit goes down, Jace, tell the whores to stay in their rooms. Jayne and Inara, move on my signal. Let’s go.” Mike walked out of the room and headed down the hallway, with Adams and Jace right behind him.

  * * *

  When he heard the prelaunch signal, Oleg made sure his team was ready to go. He checked his HK416C, then turned back to his tablet as a blaring engine could be heard getting louder.

  “What is—Blue Hand, do you have visual on what is coming?”

  “Yes,” Lasko answered. “And you are not going to like it.”

  * * *

  The pickup truck’s engine glowed like a white-hot incendiary as Lasko watched it turn onto the block and roar down the street. It was packed with men, at least a dozen of them in the bed and three more in the cab, all shouting and waving fists, machetes, and a few pistols in the air.

  “Looks like they got the news,” he said.

  Mike had also asked Chal to have his men spread the word that he was dead, so the gang would lower their guard, thinking they had accomplished their mission.

  “The bad news is that they have returned here to celebrate,” Oleg said in his ear.

  “Bad for you, perhaps,” Lasko replied as he watched the pick-up screech to a halt outside the doors and the men pile out. He smiled as he surveyed his suddenly more target-rich envi
ronment. “Is looking very good from where I am sitting.”

  * * *

  On the Big Fish, Vanner was coordinating every aspect of this op, working with Chal’s people and their own.

  “The traffic accident has just occurred at main intersection in Phuket City—every street is backed up for four blocks in all directions, and chickens are going everywhere,” Xatia reported.

  “All police units in area have been called in to secure the area, direct traffic, and assist with recovery of escaped animals,” Greznya said.

  “Nice,” Vanner replied.

  “Teams Jayne and Inara are in place and ready to begin operation,” Martya reported.

  “Kildar, Master Chief, and Captain Morgan have reached their first objective, and are ready to execute second phase,” Irina said.

  “All right, we are ready to go. All teams stand by—”

  “Team Jayne to Firefly,” Oleg’s voice rang loud over the comm.

  “Go for Firefly,” Vanner said.

  “At least twelve more tangos have just arrived at target area, and are entering the building now.”

  “Kildar, what are your orders?” Vanner asked, making sure the vital answer would be transmitted to all teams.

  * * *

  “All teams execute NOW!” Mike said, brushing aside the beaded curtain and putting a round into the head of each guard as they started to turn and see who was yelling. He pushed forward, covering the left, with Adams taking the right side of the room.

  Meanwhile, Jace covered their backside while grabbing the pistols from each of the dead guards and shouting orders to the hookers in Thai, Chinese, and Korean. The dragon lady opened her mouth to scream, but Adams crossed to her with one giant step and laid her out cold with the barrel of his Magnum across her skull.

  The whores and customers hadn’t even registered what was really going on. For all intents and purposes, the heads of both guards had just exploded, splattering everyone in the room with blood, bone fragments, and brains.