Enemy Arsenal

James had also frozen at hearing Araña’s voice coming from the back of the Escalade. “Where the hell’d he come from?”

Bolan had wondered that exact same thing, but had already come up with the answer. Despite having an assault rifle jammed into his neck, his voice was calm. “Damn, you’re one clever son of a bitch. I thought the federales got you back there. You climbed into the back of our ride, didn’t you?”

“Shut up, pendejo!” The AUG rifle’s muzzle quivered on his skin, and Bolan thought he was about to buy it right there. “I don’t know who you guys are. Real gun dealers would have split like anyone else when the po-pos showed. You guys did me a favor by driving me out of here, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna return it. Now hand over those fucking guns right now—” Bolan felt his head being shoved forward even farther “—you first, then the driver. Slowly.”

Bolan considered trying to flip his pistol and shoot the vato, but the angle was all wrong, and a miss would only result in his quick and painful death. Besides, even if he did hit the gangbanger, the guy might pull the rifle’s trigger by reflex, causing the same undesired

result. He spun the Beretta on his index finger and offered it to the man butt-first. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw James raise an eyebrow in an unspoken question, and he shook his head slightly.

Not yet.

Snatching the pistol, Araña jammed it into Bolan’s neck and set the rifle down. “Since you trashed my boys’ wheels, we’re just gonna take these, and the guns, and the money. Seeing as how you did me a solid by getting me out of there in one piece, if you’re lucky, you might even live to watch us drive away.”

James had pulled over to the side of the empty road, surrounded by small businesses and manufacturing plants that had either gone belly-up or didn’t have a night shift, since their parking lots were all deserted. Bolan expected the ATF boys to come screaming by, or even for a LAPD helicopter to have seen the commotion and investigate, but that didn’t seem to be the case here. It figured, he thought, when a person really wanted the police, they were nowhere to be found.

The rest of the gang had piled out of their dead car, but they couldn’t see what was happening inside the SUV through the smoked windows. Bolan kept his hands loose, waiting for his opportunity.

“Both of you assholes get out, right now!” For the briefest second, the pressure on his neck lessened, and that was when Bolan moved. Wrenching his head and body to the side, he twisted and grabbed the pistol, forcing it to point at the ceiling.

“Goddamn you—!” Araña tried to push the gun down again, but James rammed a short punch into his cheek that made the punk’s head snap to the side hard enough to bounce off the armored window. His grip slackened, and Bolan twisted the pistol out of his hand, then turned so he was facing backward, his chest protected by the Escalade’s bucket seat back. Even stunned, Araña tried to go for the rifle again, but Bolan ended the disagreement by slamming the butt of his pistol into the thug’s forehead twice. With the second blow, his eyes rolled back, and he slumped over on the seat, unconscious.

Through the windshield, Bolan saw the rest of the gangers slowly approach the SUV, many with pistols drawn, but held at their sides. He grabbed the AUG carbine from the back and checked the load, which was still half full. “Huh, he didn’t spray and pray, I’m impressed. All right, let’s take the rest of these bangers down. Ready?”

James had grabbed Bolan’s pistol, tucking the second under his arm as he reached for the door handle. “Let’s do it.”

The two men exited on their respective sides, guns raised, catching the group by surprise. One guy raised his pistol, but Bolan was faster, and snapped off a shot that took the gunman in the chest and sent him to the ground with a strangled gasp, the pistol skittering away on the asphalt. Standing on the running boards, Bolan and James were protected by the armored doors, giving them both a height advantage and almost complete cover.

“Drop the guns or we drop you! Now!” James repeated the order in Spanish as Bolan swept the muzzle of the assault rifle across the group to reinforce his partner. First one, then the others tossed their pistols away.

“All right, everybody grab some ground,” Bolan ordered. “I’m sure you’ve all been to lockup. You know the drill.”

Bolan and James had just collected all of the pistols, patted down each gang member for other weapons and drugs and zip-tied each when three ATF cars roared up, disgorging agents with their pistols out, all shouting for Bolan and James to raise their hands.

The two men let themselves be frisked, only then letting the other agents know that they were working as undercover FBI agents on this sting. “Which,” Bolan added archly, “you boys almost screwed up royally by charging in when you did.”

The other agents weren’t impressed. “Tell your boss to inform other agencies the next time he’s got people working in the city. In fact, forget that, just tell him to keep his fuckin’ nose out of our business. We’ve been tracking this gang for three months, and you think you can just waltz in and snatch them from under our noses? Nice try, jerkoff. We’re taking the collar on these guys, and you Feebies can kiss my ass.”

James and Bolan complained a bit more about the injustice of the situation; after all, it was good for their cover, since they had been assigned to keep moving up this branch of MS-13 to the national leaders. Now, however, they’d simply have to get the interrogation transcripts from the ATF once they were sent back to headquarters. Although they’d busted up this cell of the gang, their mission wasn’t truly complete, not by a long shot. But after this, the two would have to lie low for a while, until they could reintroduce themselves into the underworld and try to find another way into the gang’s hierarchy.

After exchanging a few more choice insults about the relative efficiency of the ATF and FBI, and extracting a promise to return the crate of rifles that had been left at the buy scene, James and Bolan were finally able to get in their SUV and drive off.

Once they were a dozen miles away, Bolan leaned over and checked their prisoner. Araña lay in the backseat, his hands and feet zip-tied and duct tape covering his mouth, his brown eyes burning with hatred.

“Sorry, amigo, but you have an appointment with some different people who are very interested in what you have to tell them. And don’t even try to spew some kind of macho bullshit at me. By the time they’re done with you, you’ll be telling them the names of the people you beat up when you were a punk-ass kid back home in El Salvador.”

James took a corner, leaning back in his seat as the tension of the mission started to wear off. “What do ya think the ATF boys’ll say when they find out the leader is missing?”

“That he was smarter than his goons and rabbited out of there, found a hole in the perimeter and, if he’s smart, is three states away by now. By the time they figure out the truth of it—if they do—he’ll have vanished off the face of the earth.” Bolan reclined his seat and slouched back, pleased at accomplishing their mission and staying in one piece. For now, it was time to relax and enjoy coming out on top again.

“Hey, find us a drive-through on the way to airport. Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

CHAPTER TWO

Hu Ji Han stood in his elegant office, staring down at the dark, gleaming water of Victoria Harbour that separated Chung Wan, Hong Kong’s central district, and Tsim Sha Tsui, the southernmost point of Kowloon Peninsula on the Chinese mainland. The neon glitter from the skyscrapers all around him reflected off the black seawater, turning what should have been a placid, still stretch into a riot of flashing blues and reds and yellows, signs exhorting those that saw them to buy, consume, spend—live for today in hedonistic, self-indulgent pleasure, with little thought of what the next day might bring.

Fifty-three stories above the ground, ensconced in the Cheung Kong Center, the artfully designed skyscraper built on the grounds of the former Hilton Hotel and Beaconsfield House, Hu stared out at the monuments to capitalism and business surrounding him. He gazed down at the crowded streets of the city that existed like a cancerous growth on an otherwise healthy living being. He lived and worked deep in the pulsing, constantly beating heart of the beast every day, surrounded by its excess, its shallow, tawdry pleasures, the souls of his countrymen adrift in a sea of overindulgent products, drowning in consumption for its own sake. Hu accepted this portion of his fate, living within this cesspool, studying it, surviving it while avoiding being drawn in by its proffered pleasures.

Even after forty years, sometimes he was surprised to find the hate still burning so strongly within him.

To the rest of the world, he was a successful businessman, respected and admired for creating a company that filled a void in the region, that of recovery and restoration after natural disasters. From his small, one-man office twenty-three years ago, the firm of Life and Property Recovery, Incorporated, now had offices all over Southeast Asia and the world, and was branching out into urban development and infrastructure planning and construction. Hu’s cost-effective solutions to humanitarian crises had made him a lauded figure throughout the region. One entire wall of his office was covered with various awards and photos of him being feted and commemorated by various groups and people, including two sitting presidents of the United States. Those meetings had galled him most of all, bowing and smiling at the haughty Americans, all of whom still strutted around as though they were the only superpower in the world, doing what they pleased, heedless of what others thought.

The U.S. companies, many of whom had headquarters in Hong Kong due to the relaxed business environment, were a particular affront to Hu, extending their poisonous influence farther into his country. They were so quick to take advantage of what the city had to offer, yet, when they had been truly needed decades ago, there had been no help forthcoming, not from them, nor from anywhere else in the world. It was this terrible failure on their part, and that of other countries, that kept Hu’s constant desire burning deep in his heart, carefully concealed by layers of politeness, business acumen and genial diplomacy. But always, always, there was the voice in the back of his mind, constantly exhorting him. His grandmother had selected his middle name, Ji, meaning to remember or keep in mind, and that was exactly what he had done all these long years.

Never forget...never forgive...

Throughout his years growing up, all through building his business over the decades, Hu had never forgotten. And now, with the first part of his plan set in motion, he was only a few days away from sending a truly divine wind down upon the complacent fools and fatuous men and women that wasted their lives in meaningless busywork—soon...it would all fall into place.

The soft whoosh of the doors to his private elevator broke through Hu’s reverie.

His personal secretary, Zheng Rong, walked to his side. Dressed in a tailored navy blue pinstripe business suit jacket and trousers, she had served him faithfully for the past five years without hesitation. Stopping three feet away, she bowed, a gesture he returned with respect, although he didn’t turn from his contemplation of the harbor.

“Stage one is complete, sir. The decoy vessel is under our control.”

“Were there any casualties?”

There was the barest pause before her reply made his head swivel in her direction. “Regrettably, yes. The men tasked to take the ship were overzealous during the assault. One man was killed, two wounded, and a woman was violated before she and the others were set adrift as originally ordered.”

Hu clucked his tongue. “Have the perpetrators been identified?”

“Yes. The death came at the hands of a young boy, who was used as a distraction. I have questioned him myself, and believe him when he says it was an accident. As for the other, he is downstairs, should you wish to speak with him yourself.”

Hu considered the offer, then turned to face her. “Take me to him. I would see this animal before he is removed from this earth.” Only the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his anger.

Zheng turned and led him back to the elevator, which was just large enough to hold both of them comfortably. The ride down was noiseless, descending into the sublevels below the building, where Hu had paid a princely sum in order to have a private garage with twenty-four-hour street access. For a man in his position, the ability to come and go unnoticed was more important than many would think.

At this time of night, there was only one vehicle in the private lot, a slate-gray Range Rover that barely rocked back and forth on its springs as the prisoner inside struggled to escape. From where he stood, Hu could barely hear the muffled thuds as the captive man slammed against the interior.

“My apologies, sir, he awoke sooner than expected.”

“No, that is all right. I would look into his eyes before you remove him.” Hu led the way, walking forward with a bare whisper of his virgin-wool trousers. He paused at the back door of the luxury SUV, waiting for Zheng to open it.

When the door rose, the man inside froze, caught in the act of hammering his bare feet against the back window glass. Gagged and bound hand and foot, he had worked himself into a sweat, the foul odor making Hu’s nose wrinkle.

“This will be cleaned once the cargo is removed.”

The man tried to catch Hu’s eyes with his own panicked ones, their normal almond shape distended by fear into wide, white ovals, marred by a swelling bruise under one. His split and puffy lips writhed as he tried to speak around the gag, the muffled pleas reduced to guttural grunts and cries.

“I would have rewarded you handsomely, enough to care for your entire family for years. Yet you let your base desires get the best of you during this first, critical operation.” Hu leaned close to the man’s blanched face. “And if I cannot trust you to carry out your orders on this simple task, then I cannot employ you any longer. But since you know too much about what I have planned for this city and the rest of the world, I regret to inform you that your termination must be permanent.”