Another door and a croupier’s cage appeared out of the smoke, which was beginning to dissipate as incoming air from somewhere began to thin it. With Liam and Stephen covering them, Dante blasted the door open with two blasts from the SPAS-15, then covered Tanner and Naomi while they darted through the doorway.
Half a dozen tables stacked with money and counting machines took up the center of the room, along with half a dozen unarmed employees herded toward the back of the space by three armed Triad gunman.
Tanner’s first blast hammered a 49 holding an AK-47, dropping him. The other two enemies dropped into cover while the employees stampeded for another door. Tanner went left, Naomi right. Both crouched and stayed low as they reached the nearest table. Both Triad enforcers reared up, one with a S&W revolver, the other with a pump-action shotgun. Gunfire from the doorway ripped into them, shredding their torsos with a dozen lethal rounds.
A moan to Tanner’s right made him swing the MP-9 in that direction. A middle-aged Asian man with thinning hair, thick glasses, and a suit lay huddled under a table, sobbing. Tanner went over and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “You in charge here?”
“I–I’m just an a-accountant! Don’t k-kill me! I–I-I have a family!”
Tanner hauled the man to his feet. “Where’s the manager?”
“H-he escaped!” The man’s eyes were red-rimmed from the CS gas and Tanner could feel him trembling.
Tanner leaned in and spoke close to his ear. “I want you to call Billy Hong and tell him to give up Rhee Kyu-chul. Do you understand?”
“H-he’ll kill me!”
“Hong’s going to be more worried about us than you. I suggest you call Hong, give him my message, take a vacation for a week — then find a new job. Got it?”
The captive’s head nodded like a bobblehead doll. “Got it. I got it!”
Tanner turned toward the back of the room, then back at the accountant. “Is there an exit out that way?”
“Yes. Fire exits and escape doors in case we were raided.”
Tanner released him and moved to the nearest table. He grabbed a handful of money bundles, turned and tossed them into the bean counter’s lap. “Here, for your trouble. Now, get out.”
Stopping only long enough to stuff his pockets with the money, the accountant ran out the same door the other employees had fled through.
Vessler’s voice was heard over the radio for the first time since the store operation began. “Seven to Prime, police have the call. ETA, three minutes.”
“You heard her,” Tanner transmitted to the team. “Move out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
George Glimsdale slept soundly, and that is what killed him.
He had spent sixteen hours doing what he could to help the FBI in the Mayor’s assassination attempt, as well as aiding Director Casey and his team of special operators. He wasn’t overjoyed at having these spooks in his city, but he also realized this was a fight with a different set of rules, with an enemy that ultimately wasn’t driven by profit, but ideology. An enemy that would kill people simply because they were Americans.
Despite being the head of the DEA’s San Francisco office, the city was an expensive place to live, and Glimsdale did his best to stay well within his means. His house was modest sized and located in an upper-middle class neighborhood, where he and his family had lived for the last five years. He had arrived home a little after midnight, eaten the dinner his wife had left him, looked in on the two youngest kids, then gone to sleep next to his wife, too tired to do anything more than murmur good night to her as he slipped into sleep.
The first realization something was wrong came when a gloved hand covered his mouth and pinched his nose shut, waking him up. As his eyes flickered open, he saw someone leaning over him. A sudden weight on his legs prevented him from kicking out. With a sudden jerk, he struggled, but then he saw and felt the cold hard muzzle of a pistol pressed against his forehead and heard the cocking of a different pistol. He stopped struggling.
“Very good,” a voice whispered. Glimsdale couldn’t see much of the man’s face because it was still dark, but he estimated the individual to be taller than six feet and solidly built. The man turned his head and said something in a language that sounded a lot like what Danny Choi used when talking to his family. A cold certainty gripped Glimsdale. The enemy had come to his home.
“Good evening, Agent in Charge Glimsdale,” the accented voice said. “Or should I say, ‘Good morning’?” He released the fingers pinching Glimsdale’s nose shut, allowing him to breathe. “We have a few things to discuss.”
Glimsdale tried opening his mouth, but the strong hand over it was wedged under his chin, holding the jaw firmly in place. The intruder — still nothing more than a dark shadow in the dim light — kept the pistol still while rotating Glimsdale’s head to the left, to see his wife of twenty-two years, Maria, staring back at him in wide-eyed panic, another intruder’s hand over her mouth and a pistol pointed at the side of her head. He glanced down and saw two more intruders pressing down on his and Maria’s legs. Seeing no chance to escape, Glimsdale relaxed completely, admitting defeat for the moment.
“Good.” The intruder turned Glimsdale’s head back to face him. “You will answer my questions completely and truthfully. The lives of you and your family depend on it.”
“Well?” Muhn asked when Chief Master Sergeant Hyoung In-sook walked into the Glimsdale’s kitchen forty-five minutes later.
“I think he told us the truth.” Hyoung walked over to a dishtowel and wiped the bloody knife he was carrying on it. “He resisted when I cut him, but weakened when I started cutting his wife and son. He surrendered completely when I started cutting his daughter’s throat.”
“Did he tell us everything?”
“As much as he knows.” Hyoung sheathed the now-clean knife and pulled off his black ski mask. “He confirmed the American mercenaries’ identities, and that they are working directly for Casey. They are apparently rogues from several U.S. agencies, including the FBI, CIA and NSA.”
“That does not surprise me. Did he give you a location?”
“He said that Casey is staying at the Trans-Continental Marsh Hotel. Twentieth floor, Presidential suite. The mercenaries are also staying there, eighteenth floor.”
“Good, I—”
The phone in Muhn’s pocket trilled. The scar-faced captain took the phone out and answered it. “Yes?”
“Are you done?” Rhee’s voice was demanding, hard.
“Yes, sir. We have information.”
“Good, because we have a problem.”
“Sir?”
“The American special team has been busy. Kim called me with the news that Hong has lost a brothel, a gambling hall, and half a dozen men in the last three hours.”
“You think it’s this group of mercenaries?”
“I know it’s them. They left the same message for Hong at both locations — they want him to give me up.”
“But how—”
“They know who I am — they used my name when they left the messages.”
“My team and I will go right now and kill them.”
“No. It is likely the mercenaries are not done yet, so striking at their base now will yield nothing. You will continue with Phase two of Night Blade. Seonwoo will take care of the mercenaries, using your actions as a cover and a distraction. In addition, he will be going after the mercenaries’ paymaster, Casey, to capture or kill him. It is time for the Americans to be reminded that no one is safe anywhere.”