Grant looked over his shoulder, shouting to Stalley and Slade, “Get our men outta here!” The two men hurried up to the second floor, then lead the SEALs out to the vehicle.
At least one of the three UFs by the table wasn’t going down without a fight. Suddenly, he spun around, attempting to use a hand chop to Grant’s head. In a split second, Grant blocked it with his right forearm. Before the man could blink, Grant’s left hand went rigid, his fingers curled slightly, thumb curled and locked in place. With his palm up, he struck the man right at the Adam’s apple with a ridge-hand chop (the back part of the hand), crushing the bone.
The man staggered back against the table, grasping his throat. His knees buckled from under him. He collapsed, choking, fighting for every breath. His face coloring turned a gray-purple. Then, he went limp, with his hand still holding his throat.
Grant stood over him with pure rage showing on his face. His left hand remained rigid, until he heard Adler’s voice. “Skipper.”
All the years they’d known one another, Adler had never seen Grant use his “special” skills. It explained a lot about the strength in those hands, and the scars.
Then something caught Grant’s eye, and he knelt next to the man, rolling him over on his stomach. Nunchakus. He roughly pulled them from the waistband before he stood, and handed them to Diaz. He looked at Adler briefly, then said to James, “Search those two.”
James patted down the first man. “What have we here?” he said drawing out an instrument tucked into a sheath under the man’s jacket. It was similar to a scythe.
He held it up for Grant to see. Grant knew exactly what it was. A kama. The weapon had a long wooden handle, with a foot-long, inward curving blade. Originally, it was used for chopping crops.
Grant said, “We have our murder weapon. That’s what killed Ang.”
James handed it to Novak, then he searched the man’s jacket pockets, finding a card. Without even looking at it, he gave it to Grant. He started searching the second man. “Here you go, Boss,” he said, holding out a card similar to the other. He continued searching the man, pulling a Norinco from its holster. He shoved that in his waistband. “That’s it.”
Grant held both cards in his left hand, as he scrutinized the names. “Chi-ming Lai and An-Jie Lin.” He specifically looked at the man called An-Jie Lin, the one who carried the kama. “You’re not ChiComs.”
An almost indiscernible hint of acknowledgement flashed across the man’s face. Grant caught it. “And you, you bastard, you understand English, don’t you?” Silence. “Who the hell are you?!” Again, silence.
Adler finally asked, “If they’re not ChiComs, then who?”
“They’re from Taiwan, Joe. And I’m beginning to see the whole fuckin’ picture.”
Adler was shaking his head, when something caught his eye. They’d been too preoccupied to notice, but now he spotted two small, wooden barrels in the corner. “Fuck,” he said under his breath.
Grant snapped his head around. “What?!” Then he saw what Adler was looking at. “Oh, Christ!” He immediately shouted, “Head’s up! Keep an eye on these guys!”
He and Adler hurried over to the other side of the room, staring at two IEDs — two “dirty” bombs. Inside each barrel, blocks of C-4 were wrapped around a canister. Dynamite was wrapped around the C-4. Red and black wires were placed helter-skelter around the explosives. However much was underneath, there was no way to tell.
What they could see were more than enough explosives to do plenty of damage, and more than enough to blow the canisters to smithereens, releasing the plutonium inside. No matter which way the wind was blowing, innocent people would be affected. And that, apparently, was the sole intent.
Adler leaned around the side of a barrel, sliding his hand toward the back.
“What are you looking for?”
“There’s gotta be some kinda timing device somewhere. Oh, shit!”
“What? Where is it?”
“I have a feeling it’s under the explosives.” He swung around, then made a beeline across the room. Reaching up, he grabbed Lin’s arm, then twisted it behind his back, forcing the man’s fingers open. In his palm was a small device.
“Holy Christ!” Adler spit out.
Grant rushed over, looking at the black box. He clutched the front of Lin’s jacket, practically lifting the man off the floor. “How much time?!” Silence again. Shoving the man back, Grant said, “Everybody outta here! And take these two!”
With what seemed like organized chaos, the Team reacted swiftly, pulling the two men outside. The man who’d been unconscious started moaning. He was coming around. His eyes started opening. Diaz grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the van.
Adler rushed outside, then came back with his rucksack. He laid his Uzi against the wall. Grant took a step closer, slowly shaking his head. He reached for Adler’s arm and locked eyes on him. “I know what you’re thinking. No. You can’t, Joe!”
“Is that an order?”
“For Christ’s sake, Joe!”
“Look, Skipper. We all know what’ll happen if I don’t even try.”
Diaz dropped his rucksack on the floor. “Count me in.”
“There,” Adler said, indicating with a thumb over his shoulder. “Two EOD-types. We should be able to pull it off.”
Grant turned away, vigorously rubbing the back of his neck. The way he felt at this moment had to be what Adler had experienced a year ago. That day Grant ordered Adler into a chopper, leaving him behind with East Germans and Russians.
As much faith as he had in Adler’s ability, Grant almost couldn’t face the prospect of possibly losing his good friend… his best friend. He also knew there’d be no changing Adler’s mind. They were here to get the SEALs home. And now this had become another responsibility — save innocent lives.
Grant sucked in a lungful of air. He lifted the strap of his Uzi over his head, letting it hang from his shoulder. “DJ!”
James ducked his head in the doorway. “Yeah, Boss?”
“You still got two radios?”
“Yeah.”
“Leave one.”
James nodded, then removed a radio from his rucksack, handing it to Diaz.
Grant stepped in front of Diaz, extending his hand. “Frank.”
“Don’t count us out, Boss.”
Grant gave a quick nod, before turning to Adler, who already had a hand extended. Grant latched onto it. “Joe… ”
“Meet you at the boat, Skipper. Okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. Sure, Joe.” With that he turned and left.
He hurried to the van, seeing his rucksack had already been put in the back. He forced a smile, as he looked at one SEAL then the other. It was the first time he was able to see how beat up they were, how tired and drawn they looked. “Ready to go home?”
Kidd and Becket each gave a quick two finger salute, with Becket answering, “You bet, sir!”
“Okay.” He nodded toward Slade and Novak, then he slammed the doors shut. The men were packed in there like sardines, but it hardly mattered. It was their only way out of Shanghai.
Stalley and James were waiting by the cab. Grant shouted, “Doc! You drive. DJ, give him the directions. Get us outta here!” With the little distance they had to travel before reaching the river, perhaps the fog would help cover their escape.
Tires squealed as Stalley hit the accelerator. Grant looked in the passenger side mirror as they pulled away, running a hand over the top of his head, with an all too familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Chapter 16
The Huangpu River. The largest river in Shanghai. It stretched for nearly seventy miles and was the last major tributary of the Yangtze. Even though the river was used as a major dumping place for sewage, most of Shanghai used it for drinking, and fishermen still fished along its banks.