“Affirmative— they’re heading directly for the back. Past the guard…knocking on the door…three long, count of three, two more, count of four, and three more. Viewport opened and guys are inside. I can see at least one blackjack table, and — door closed.”
“Got it. Five, we’re going to need the door knocker.”
In a second car, Vessler, Stephen and Dante were on the move around the neighborhood surrounding the store. “Copy that, Prime,” Dante said. “Whenever you say the word.”
“Prime to all teams, Execute.”
“On our way in.”
Tanner and Naomi stepped into the street and walked toward the store. Both had MP-9s under their coats, as well as their SIGs. In addition, each carried a large can of pepper spray and sets of riot cuffs.
“Seven to Prime: Police bands are hopping with what happened at the brothel. Major attention-getter.”
“Good. Five, ETA?”
“Thirty seconds. You should see our car lights coming toward you.”
The approaching car was easy to spot. “Right, I see you.”
The two OUTCAST members crossed the street and went directly into the store. A bell on the door rang as they opened it. One of the employees, an Asian with dull eyes and crooked teeth, was mopping the floor right in front of the door. He nodded to them and continued pushing the mop back and forth without any obvious success in cleaning the dingy gray floor.
The business had the look and the feel of a neighborhood store. There were five aisles running front to back, with a refrigerated section loaded with beverages lining both sides of the back wall. Music played at low volume, a classic rock tune Tanner remembered from his early days of college.
A counter was on the right, surrounded by thick glass, with a register and cigarette cartons on the shelves behind it. It was manned by a second Asian, a little older than the mopper, with a scar above his right eyebrow and a smile when he greeted them that didn’t reach his eyes. They didn’t see the third employee.
Tanner and Naomi went down the aisle farthest away from the register. “Base,” Tanner subvocalized. “Where is that third employee?”
“Aisle nearest the counter. He stocking and — he’s armed. Pistol at the small of his back.”
“Copy. Firearm status on the other two?”
“Cashier has a pistol-grip shotgun under the counter, and number three has his pistol in an ankle holster.”
Tanner glanced at the shelf. “Four, Five: ETA?”
“Entering the store… Now.”
The bell on the door rang again and Dante, carrying a guitar case on his back, was followed by Stephen, who was saying, “— is the better band.”
Dante shook his head. “But the Stones have been around for decades and they’re still going strong!”
“That’s the problem.” Stephen walked past Tanner and Naomi as if he didn’t know them. “They’re too damn old! Keith Richards looks like an unwrapped Egyptian mummy.”
“Seriously—”
“They’re old enough for social security!” Continuing to argue, Stephen and Dante made their way toward the back of the store.
“Two,” Tanner subvocalized. “Come on in.”
“Copy, Prime. On my way.”
Tanner nodded to Naomi and they separated, each moving over to one of the employees/guards on the floor. They did it slowly, picking up a couple of items that could be carried in one hand and be easily dropped when the time came. In the back, Stephen and Dante were still loudly debating rock bands.
“Five to Prime. In position.”
“Two to Prime. Coming in now.”
“Prime to Base. Commence Snow-out.”
“Snow-out is on in three… two… one. Snow-out active.”
Tanner and Naomi drew their pistols as Liam entered, pistol already up and pointed at the man behind the counter. As Tanner’s target made a move for the gun at the small of his back, the OUTCAST leader grabbed him by the shoulder and jammed his SIG into the base of the man’s skull. “Stop or die,” he hissed in the would-be gunman’s ear. The man froze.
There was a scuffling in the back, followed by a thud. “Door guard down,” Stephen said. “Cuffing him now.”
“Five, watch the target door. Four, come up and cuff these others.”
In less than a minute, all four Asians were restrained with riot cuffs and deposited behind the counter. The front door was locked and a “Back in Ten Minutes” sign went up in the window. All the guards’ weapons were unloaded, the ammo flushed down the restroom toilet, the weapons themselves tossed into the trash can.
While the team finished up, Dante opened the guitar case, revealing not a musical instrument, but an instrument of war. The Franchi SPAS-15 looked like a bulky assault rifle, but was actually a shotgun that could be fired either as a pump-action or as a semi-automatic. Added to the muzzle was a breaching attachment designed to help the shotgun breach a door, and the six-round magazine was loaded with breaching rounds, with one in the chamber.
They moved toward the steel door, Dante carrying the SPAS-15, the other four switching their pistols for MP-9s. In addition to the compact submachine gun, Tanner carried a can of pepper spray in one hand. The others, except for Dante, carried CS canisters.
After signaling the others to pull up their gas masks, Tanner knocked on the steel door. As soon as the view slit opened he stuck the pepper spray can in the opening and sprayed back and forth. Someone on the other side of the door screamed in pain and surprise.
Tanner stepped back and Dante moved forward. He pointed the shotgun at the door lock and fired twice. The lock and the frame around it shattered, but the door didn’t open. Dante fired twice more and this time door sprang open. Shouts and screams from beyond the doorway filled the air.
Three CS canisters sailed into the room, causing yelling mixed with coughing and the sounds of many footsteps moving away from the billowing white smoke.
“Go!” Tanner moved through the doorway, going right, his MP-9 raised at the ready. Liam was next, moving left, mirroring Tanner. The rest of the team followed, with Dante coming last, the shotgun slung in favor of his MP-9.
Inside, thick smoke was everywhere, reducing visibility to mere feet. Tanner led the way, flanked by Dante and Naomi. Liam and Stephen were five feet away to Tanner’s left. A suited man was on the floor near the door, pawing at his eyes, the butt of a pistol barely visible under his jacket. Tanner kicked him in the head and he stopped moving.
An Asian male in a suit rose from behind a table several feet in front of Tanner with a double-barreled shotgun in his hands. He was half-blinded by the tear gas, but his body language screamed defiance. “Motherfucker!” He screamed, raising the shotgun. Tanner fired first, and more than one 9mm round struck the Triad hitter in the chest, knocking him back and into another table. He disappeared into the smoke as he fell to the floor.
The team passed poker, blackjack and roulette tables as they continued deeper into the surprisingly large room. More people, overcome by the gas, lay curled up near the tables, tears streaming down their faces and breathing in ragged gasps. Chairs were overturned and items like purses and cash were left on the tables they passed.
Two more formally dressed men charged out of the gas cloud to Liam’s left. Both had wrapped cloths over their faces, though their eyes were red and swollen from the CS, and each wielded foot-long knives. They charged Liam and Stephen wailing something in Chinese. Stephen stepped back and triggered a quick burst from his MP-9 that took his attacker in the upper chest and throat. The fighter’s feet went out from under him and he fell.
Liam’s attacker was too close for the ex-SEAL to fire at. The Triad thug thrust with his knife, intent on gutting Liam with the blade. Liam used his MP-9 to deflect the thrust to the left and kicked the person in the knee with a steel-tipped boot. There was a ‘crack’ as bone, tendon and ligament gave way and the leg collapsed, dropping the knife wielder on his face. Liam slid back and fired a burst into the killer’s back.