Gavin held up the small green board, not much larger than a deck of playing cards. “I love these little computers. They can do almost anything.”
“Can that fight off a couple of armed guards?” Ryan asked. “Because that’s what Ding and Adara are going to need.”
Clark’s voice came across the radio, direct and taut. “CODE BLACK. Repeat. CODE BLACK.”
Ryan and Midas both reached to check their radios, making certain they were on PTT instead of intercom mode. CODE BLACK was an order to cease all radio traffic immediately. It usually meant they were being monitored. Since the radios were encrypted, the only obvious way that could happen was for someone to get one of the handsets.
Ryan’s phone rang an instant later. It was Clark. Ryan put it on speaker and passed it to Midas so he could negotiate the Manado traffic.
“Everyone rendezvous at the Blessing Jesus statue south of the city,” Clark said. “Ding’s missing. We have to assume he’s been taken.”
“Copy,” Ryan said, his voice grim.
Midas was already looking up the best route on his phone. He pointed south and whispered, “Take this to the Ring Road. It’s a straight shot south.”
Ryan gave a quick nod showing he understood. “Taken?” He glanced down at the phone as he drove. “By who?”
“I’ve got his tracker pulled up,” Clark said. “Looks like he’s at Suparman’s main office.”
“No shit?” Midas said. “That makes no sense. How could Suparman have known we were here?”
“The visit to the game store, maybe,” Ryan mused.
“Unknown,” Clark said. “But the fact remains, he’s at Suparman HQ — or, at least, that’s where the tracker in his belt is. Adara talked to a lady from the teahouse who said she saw some men helping another man into a van. When she went to the spot, she found Taser chaff on the sidewalk.”
“The bastards tased him,” Midas said.
“Looks that way,” Clark said, his jaw clenched, brooding.
Along with their twin steel barbs, the compressed-gas Taser cartridge deployed dozens of tiny circular tags known as Anti-Felon Identifications. These AFIDs were numbered and fluoresced when hit with a UV light, helping law enforcement — and in this case, Adara — see where a Taser had been deployed.
“So,” Ryan said, his mind reeling. “We link up at the statue… and then…”
“The mission’s still the same,” Clark said. “Except we grab the tech and Ding.”
“And no dart guns on the guards,” Midas said.
“Oh,” Clark said. “Hell, no.”
39
It was a straightforward mission — a pregnant woman, two teenagers, and a man in his fifties. Soft targets. Kang could have handled the job all by himself. He brought Rose and Lily, in any case, mainly to help keep an eye on the boss. Wu Chao had insisted on coming along. The major was handy enough to have around when the rough business began, but he took no joy in the work. It was as if he felt embarrassed. Guilty. And too much guilt could make one slow. Rose and Lily certainly didn’t have that problem. They enjoyed this work as much as Kang did — a rarity in women, as Kang had come to find over the course of his career.
The Li home was a huge affair, built, like all the other houses in historic Fort Sheridan, in the 1890s of blond brick. Located on one of the quiet side streets east of Leonard Wood Avenue near the old parade ground turned park, the three-story house was nestled among great oaks and Colorado blue spruce. Conveniently for Kang and his group, it was the last on the loop, adjacent to a steep wooded slope that led directly down to the shores of Lake Michigan and a quiet nature preserve.
Kang and the others approached in the rain, under cover of darkness, in an inflatable skiff. Dressed like tourists who’d been caught in the weather rather than commandos, they beached the boat and dragged it into the underbrush at the edge of the woods. They didn’t have to worry about extreme high tides, but Lake Michigan had wind and waves, so Kang looped the bowline around a stout bush before leading the others up the tree-choked incline.
As always, he’d come well prepared for the evening’s events. He’d studied real estate floor plans of similar houses and reviewed social media accounts for the woman and her two teenagers. Li wasn’t active on social media, so Kang had to rely on a dossier put together by MSS and Central Committee operatives over the years. Li was retired military, which could be an issue when it came to violence. But the man was in the Navy and sailors prosecuted wars from far away, not nose-to-nose, the way Kang preferred. No, this one would pose no challenge whatsoever.
Chinese blood ran through Peter Li’s veins. He’d completely forgotten his heritage, his responsibility. Li worked for the Americans — making him doubly culpable in Kang’s book — less than a dog.
A spotter in the neighborhood above, out walking her bichon frise, had confirmed earlier that Li had dropped his car off at a garage in Lake Forest for some repairs. His wife had picked him up. Both children had arrived home in the late evening.
Kang and his team had to bushwhack through dense foliage, but reached the top of the hill with little trouble. A familiar warmth began to spread through his belly when the house came into view. A second-floor light was on, but it was just before dawn and everyone would be in bed — the groggy time, the best time to attack.
Each member of the group was armed with an identical Beretta Storm Compact nine-millimeter pistol with a threaded barrel and suppressor. All but Wu Chao also carried a knife. The women preferred short, scalpel-like blades for close-in work, which accounted for why they often removed their clothing before they did a job. Kang’s weapon of choice was a thick beast with a slightly curved blade that resembled a stubby cutlass. He’d had it custom-made by a smith in Shanghai. The black Micarta handle was scored to help him retain his grip when it might otherwise grow slippery from the inevitable blood and gore.
Kang took his eye off the house long enough to check his team. The women were both locked in on the mission, but relaxed in the way professionals relax before doing something they know well. Wu crouched at the edge of the brush, turning his head this way and that, as if he were attacking a fortified sentry post instead of a house of soft targets. He used a night-vision monocular to scan the grounds, and then returned the device to his pocket. There was enough ambient light that flashlights or night-vision goggles were unnecessary.
Wu gave Kang a slight nod, permission to advance, though Kang had been about to move forward without it. This was his realm of expertise.
Taking a mobile phone from the pocket of his vest, Kang entered a six-digit code, accessing the security application on the Li boy’s cloned device. On Kang’s signal, the team sprinted through the blue-black darkness across the lawn to the side door — off the kitchen, stacking in teams of two on either side of the frame. Lily put her right hand on the knob, then raised her left to signal she was ready. The alarm would make an audible chirp the moment it was deactivated, alerting Li that something was amiss. They had to move quickly.
Kang, standing directly behind Lily, entered the disarm code, counted to three, and then gave her thigh a squeeze — signaling for her to go. She rolled in through the open door, careful not to let it bang against the inside wall. Kang followed tight on her heels, pistol up, raised tritium night sights glowing over the barrel of his suppressor in the dim light of the pantry. Rose filed in behind him, fluid, inaudible. Wu Chao brought up the rear, easing the door shut.