Kang squatted low, behind the relative cover of the landing. He’d regained the use of his hand, so the wound to his elbow couldn’t have been too bad. Probably birdshot. He ducked his head, pistol drawn now, ready to rush the stairs. They did not need to talk to Peter Li that badly. The important thing was to tie up loose ends. Li had to die. Kang would kill the family for sport. Retribution for… fighting back. The odor of gun smoke and urine from Wu Chao’s spilled bladder made Kang pause — which saved his life.
Rather than retreat, Peter Li advanced with the shotgun, blasting well-aimed shots down the stairwell now that his wife and stepchildren were out of the way. Lily crumpled forward, clutching her stomach. The next shot clipped away her ponytail, hitting her squarely in the back of the neck, nearly decapitating her at this close range. An anchor shot. Li was picking them off, one by one. He kept shooting, reloading from cover, then blasting away each time he topped off his weapon.
The man knew how to fight.
Kang and Rose fled the house, bursting out the back door at a dead run. Both were heaving from frustration and adrenaline by the time they crashed into the dark wood line above the lake. The police were surely on their way.
Crouching behind a clump of scrub oak, Kang turned to give this place of utter failure one last look. To his astonishment, bright flashes lit the second-floor windows. Li was still shooting. He didn’t know the intruders were gone, or how many were in his house. Amazingly, the shots inside the brick house were inaudible from just a few dozen yards away. It was as if Li were watching a John Wick movie inside with the sound off. The neighbors would not have heard anything, certainly nothing that would make them call 911.
“Lily…” Rose whispered. “That bastard killed Lily…”
“And he will pay for it,” Kang said. “He will pay dearly.”
“We must report in,” Rose said.
“We will,” Kang said. “When the mission is complete. Go down to the boat and get the RPG. The pregnant woman is injured. The police will transport her to the hospital. When Li comes out to ride with her…”
“But the police will search the grounds—”
The garage door flew off its tracks and a gray Mercedes SUV burst out, shooting down the driveway carrying the door on the bumper for several dozen yards before it fell away. Taillights flashed and tires squealed as the vehicle fishtailed through the darkness, rounding the bend toward Leonard Wood Avenue.
“This is shit!” Rose spat.
“No,” Kang said. “This is good. This is very good. I do not think they called the police.”
“Lily is dead!” Rose said, seething. “Wu Chao is dead! The man we came to kill still lives. His fat cow wife still lives. This can only be called a disaster.”
“But we are not dead.” Kang tipped his head toward the road where the SUV had disappeared. His lip trembled as the reality of what had just occurred crashed down on his shoulders. “It does not matter where Li runs. Do not forget that we still have the means to track him. Neither he nor his precious family will live to see nightfall.”
40
Ding’s tracker was still active at Suparman Games headquarters when John Clark parked a block away, in the back lot of a car dealership along Sam Ratulangi Road. The rented Toyota van blended in better on the lot than it would have on the side of the relatively sleepy divided four-lane. Making his approach from any closer meant that he might be up on exterior cameras. Any farther away and he risked exposure to passersby or people simply trying to cool off on their porches. As far as he’d been able to see, there was no distinct line between residential and business districts. A dirt-floor hovel might occupy the lot next to a high-end grocery, or the owners of a mansion might look out the window to the roof of a convenience store.
Suparman was wise indeed if he’d been thinking in terms of a neighborhood watch when he planned where to put his headquarters. The street had plenty of private residences to sound the alarm if anything or anyone looked out of the ordinary.
Clark kept out of sight on the west side of the road, opposite Suparman’s, cutting through a wooded lot that ran behind a row of ramshackle shops that made up a sort of Third World — looking strip mall. It was dark, and he was able to use the shadows of a large guava tree directly across from the gaming company offices as cover.
A waist-high concrete block wall, whitewashed to match the Suparman building, ran the length of the property in front, ending in a sliding metal gate at the north end. Behind the gate, piles of gravel and concrete block marked an area of new construction to an open carport below what would be more offices. The face of the primarily glass building with bright white eaves and roof stood out in stark contrast to the surrounding greenery. This wall of windows made it easy for Clark to see the guards in the lobby, but would also leave him visible on approach.
The plans Gavin found online had not been labeled, but it was a safe bet that Suparman’s office would be on the second floor in the southeast corner. Indonesia was a veritable sauna, making showering multiple times a day a national pastime. There were three washrooms in the building, but the architect’s drawing of the one that adjoined the office in the southeast corner was plumbed for an American-style toilet, bidet, and a palatial shower. The reinforced walls indicated that the vault was in that office as well.
Clark had still not been able to figure out how Suparman’s men had gotten to Ding. He must have done something to make them suspicious at the storefront. If it had been local police, or drug dealers, or even spur-of-the-moment kidnappers looking to make a quick buck ransoming a rich American, Clark could have gotten his head wrapped around it. But Suparman? He couldn’t have known what they were up to. Ackerman was dead. Noonan was presumed dead — though this was not certain. There could be a link here… Clark shook off that idea. Noonan wouldn’t know Ding Chavez from Adam. Chinese intelligence was supposedly involved, but he doubted they knew the gaming company had a copy of Calliope — not yet, anyway.
That left Ding’s visit to the storefront… It made no sense at all, and yet here they were.
Clark’s orders were to grab the tech at all costs. He hated that term. “At all costs” sounded great when you were a young punk operative — a license to kill, real 007 shit. The rules of engagement were relaxed to the point of being nearly nonexistent. But in reality, “at all costs” meant “at the cost of everything,” even your team members. Make it happen or die in the attempt. There had been a time when Clark was gung ho enough to do just that, but he wasn’t going there now. They’d all die together or they’d all come home.
Jack Junior came over the radio — Midas had rekeyed the encryption when they’d linked up at the Blessing Jesus statue, so Ding’s radio was now unable to listen in.
“I’ve got a light in the back corner office,” Ryan said. “North end, bottom floor.”
“Copy,” Clark said.
Dom was with Jack, but Adara and Midas responded as well.
Clark took a PVS-14 night-vision monocular to peer at the grounds across the street. No patrols, but he located the exterior cameras over the door and at each corner of the building. The guard in the lobby, maybe thirty years old from the looks of him, was still alone, playing a game on his phone. He talked to someone on his radio every now and again.
Clark looked right and left, up and down the dark street. No lights, no signs of bicycles or pedestrians. He trotted across the street, moving diagonally to reach a small princess palm tree. It was skinny and only about twice his height but provided a vertical object for him to stand beside. As long as he was still, a casual glance out the window might not draw attention. Maybe. In any case, he didn’t intend to be there long.