Lone Star 02 (24 page)

And if her parents are won over?
Ki asked himself.
Then what?
Could he possibly break the vow he'd so long ago made to Jessica's father? Could he possibly leave Jessie to fend for herself?

But perhaps he would not have to choose between his own happiness and his sworn duty. He could take a bride and still serve the Starbuck cause. But would he be as willing to risk his life in that cause, knowing that a wife—and perhaps a child—were waiting for him?

The swirling misery of his conflicting emotions was enough to make Ki think that either his heart or his brain was going to explode. Here was a chance for happiness, but how was he to seize it, while still maintaining his honor?

Moore had quickly changed into a dark wool sweater, dark pants, and india-rubber-soled shoes. He carried a canvas jacket, and his gun and shoulder holster, but set them down on a chair as he stared at Ki, who was still sitting, seemingly oblivious to everything.

“What's wrong?” the detective demanded.

Ki stood up, shaking his head. “Nothing. We should go...”

“Don't give me that ‘nothing' business,” Moore scolded. “We're probably going to get killed tonight. The least you can do is tell me what's eating you!”

Ki stared down at the smaller man who was so brazenly confronting him. Then he smiled. “A fellow named Longarm, a federal lawman, has a saying: ‘A man ought to eat an apple one bite at a time.' If all goes well tonight, I may ask your advice about something. If all does not go well...” Ki shrugged.

“Have it your own way,” Moore sighed. He slipped on his shoulder holster, checked his Colt to see that it was fully loaded, and then put on his jacket. “But I'll tell you this. If you don't find somebody to open up to, one of these days you're going to explode.”

“Jordan,” Ki said earnestly. “One thing you should know. You will not die tonight. I will see to it.”

“I'd better
not,
friend,” Moore slipped extra ammunition, cigars, and matches into the pockets of his jacket. “If I do get killed, Jessie Starbuck is going to get one hell of a bill.”

Chapter 13

The lightly rigged, ten-foot-long mosquito board that Moore had earlier secured for the mission skimmed across the inky waters of the bay. What little moon there was this night was suddenly hidden by a cloud. The four-man craft had no running lights, and was therefore invisible in the darkness.

“Damn!” Moore seethed through his chattering teeth. He wedged the tiller beneath his arm in order to more tightly pull his spray-drenched jacket around him. “Aren't
you
cold?” he glared at Ki, who appeared to be quite comfortable in just his shirtsleeves and vest.

“Cold is a state of mind,” Ki remarked amiably. He pointed to their left. “There it is. The cartel's clipper.”

The three-masted, square-rigged cargo ship loomed before them like an island. Glowing lanterns speckled the long craft. The sea winds roared and wailed in its billowing sails as the clipper cut a swath through the black chop and swell of the bay.

Moore glanced over his shoulder at the distant, twinkling lights of the waterfront. “We've got to do it before they get much closer,” he announced quietly. “Hey! It just occurred to me. Getting all those coolies to shore is going to be a problem.”

“We'll use the clipper's lifeboats,” Ki cut him off. “When we're done, the crew will no longer have need of them.”

“All right, then,” Moore whispered. “The crew will number between twenty and thirty. There won't be a lot of guns about, but every man will have a knife, and know how to use it.”

Ki nodded. “Do you have a knife?” he asked as the clipper's black silhouette grew before them.

“Ugh!” Moore shuddered. “Not me! I hate knives!”

“Odd,” Ki remarked. “A knife is usually a skinny man's weapon...”

“Hey!” Moore laughed. “You're already going to be up against thirty men. In a minute it's going to be thirty-one!”

Ki reached into the satchel strapped across his shoulder, and removed several egg-sized objects painted different colors. “Here,” he said, handing them to Moore.

“What's this? Food?”

Ki laughed. “Not unless you have a very strong stomach, my friend. They are called
nage teppo,”
he explained. “They are bombs. The red ones create smoke. The yellow ones explode in a flash of light which is harmless but temporarily blinding. The green ones explode like dynamite.”

“What about this white one?” Moore asked, examining the grenades.

“The white are filled with a substance that, upon contact with the air, erupts into flame,” Ki told him. “All of the bombs need only to be tossed. Upon landing, their outer shells will shatter and the explosions will occur.”

“Not bad,” Moore chuckled as he slipped the deadly eggs into his pocket. “Hey! What if I should fall down and these things should crack?”

“Do not worry,” Ki assured him. “It would be over so quickly you would never feel a thing.”

Moore nodded. “That's a load off my mind. I've got my gun and these little toys of yours, but where are your weapons?”

“In this satchel I have many more ‘toys,' as you call them,” Ki replied. “I have
shuriken
throwing blades, and I have these.” From his belt he extracted two eighteen-inch-long swordlike weapons. A pair of prongs, curved like the horns of a steer, sprouted from the hilt of each sword. “These are called
sai,”
Ki explained.

“I wish you had something else in that bag of tricks,” Moore sighed.

“What?”

“About ten more men!” He swung the tiller sharply to heave the mosquito boat around. Now they were running parallel to the clipper. “Get ready!” he hissed, as he angled their boat ever closer to the big hull of the cargo ship.

Ki took from his pocket the same spool of cord and multi-barbed hook that he'd used to aid him in his climb at the bordello. As the distance between the two craft was narrowed, he began to swing the cord above his head the way a cowboy twirls a lariat.

Less than a yard now separated the tiny boat from the high, curved hull of the clipper, and they were being buffeted by the three-master's wake. “I can't hold us here much longer!” Moore warned as he clenched the tiller with both hands. “I'll either ram them or capsize—”

Ki stood with his legs braced against the bench seat of the bouncing mosquito boat. It was like trying to stand on the saddle of a galloping horse. He let the cord fly. The hook caught the clipper's gunwale.

“Done!” he called, while tying his end of the cord to one of the cleats mounted on the mosquito boat's prow. The clipper was now towing them along.

Groaning with relief, the detective levered the rudder out of the churning water. He collapsed their two small sails, and scrambled into the prow along with Ki. ,

The clipper's railing was fifteen feet above them. Ki hurled another hooked cord up to catch the gunwale. He made sure it was securely lodged, then offered the cord to Moore.

“What's that for?” the detective asked. “And how are we going to get up there?” He gestured toward the clipper's decks.

Ki pushed the cord at him. “Climb this, of course!”

Moore's eyes widened in disbelief. “That piece of thread? You've got to be kidding?”

Ki shook his head in exasperation. “Jordan,” he hissed. “You cannot climb a rope?”

“I don't see a rope,” Moore replied adamantly. “I see a thread! I can climb a rope... although I'd prefer a rope ladder ...” he trailed off.

“Lock your arms around my neck,” Ki ordered. “I will carry you up on my back.”

“You can't carry me—” Moore began, but then he shrugged. “Sure you can...”

With the detective holding on for dear life, Ki hauled himself out of the mosquito boat and up the side of the clipper. “Stop kicking!” he ordered his squirming passenger.

“This is humiliating!” Moore complained.

“Stealth, and the element of surprise is everything,” Ki warned. “Do not fire your gun unless absolutely necessary.”

“Hey! What's going on?” A sailor, strolling along the middle deck, was staring at them in astonishment. “Where'd you two come from?”

Ki chinned himself up past the deck rail, to let Moore scramble off his back, and then hauled himself over, landing lightly on his feet. As he began to move toward the sailor, the man pulled a pistol from his belt. A second later, a shot drove the samurai down to the wooden planking.

“Help!” the sailor shouted. “Intruders on the port side!”

“So much for stealth,” Moore smirked.

“So much for their not having guns.” Ki growled, hugging the deck as the sailor's second shot sent splinters into the air just inches in front of his face. “Shoot him!” he called, searching over his shoulder for Moore. “Where are you?”

“All you had to do was ask,” the detective said. He drew his short-barreled Colt, gripped it in both hands, and squeezed the trigger. The big .44's detonation shattered the windswept night. Moore rode the pistol's recoil up, and then brought the gun's squat barrel back on target.

But there was no need for a second shot. The sailor was staring down at his bloody belly in amazed horror, his pistol clattering to the deck as he pitched forward.

Moore helped Ki to his feet. “You all right?” he asked.

Ki nodded, and at the same time shoved the detective aside. A
shuriken
star seemed to materialize in his hand. He sent it whizzing toward a second sailor who had just appeared on the center deck. The swab uttered a hoarse scream. He skidded and then fell out of sight, his fingers slapping at the cold steel Ki had planted in his chest.

Now sailors were popping up everywhere. They poured out from belowdecks through hatches, and swarmed out of cabin doors like ants massing to protect their nest. Moore's pistol flashed and boomed twice again, dropping two more of the enemy.

“This isn't working out the way we'd planned,” the detective shouted over the commotion.

“You are a very good shot,” Ki complimented him.

“You'd better hope so,” Moore laughed. He swung his gun around to fire a quick shot that knocked back a charging, knife-wielding sailor. “But I've only got one round left. I've got to reload!”

“Run toward the stern,” Ki ordered. He pulled one of the yellow
nage teppo
grenades out of his shoulder satchel. “Close your eyes!” he warned, and then tossed the egg over his shoulder.

There was only a dull thud, but the flash of light was enough to penetrate Moore's tightly clenched lids, so that his closed eyes saw bright red. When he opened them, he saw several sailors milling about blindly.

Moore clicked open the smoking cylinder of his revolver as he ran astern, ejecting the spent shells and feeding fresh rounds into his gun. He stopped short at the raised bulkhead of the main cargo bay. Were the coolies down there? The next thing he knew, he was flying through the air, his gun spinning out of his grip. He'd been tackled by a sailor lurking in the shadows.

Moore kicked and squirmed out of the sailor's grasp. He got to his feet along with his adversary, who was now flashing an extremely long, shiny knife.

“I'll cut your gizzards out, mate!” the sailor spat, rushing toward Moore.

The detective dodged the man's knife thrust at his stomach. He rammed his fist into the swab's thick midsection, doubling him over, then brought his left around in a swooping, downward cross that connected beneath the sailor's ear. The poleaxed swab fell while Moore hurried to retrieve his revolver.

Ki, meanwhile, was standing his ground, preventing a half-dozen sailors from getting past him. Each time the men tried, he'd dance sideways, cutting them off. Finally they formed a wary semicircle around the samurai.

“Watch yourselves, men!” came the gruff voice of their captain from behind the line of sailors. “I've seen his type in the Japans. He's a one-man army!”

Ki, grinning like a tiger, pulled his brace of
sai
from his belt. He twirled the two eighteen-inch-long swords like batons as he charged into the six sailors.

Two of the sailors lifted their own machete-like blades in order to swing them down at Ki's head. The samurai spun sideways to avoid the first man's deadly downward slash, and then crossed his two
sai
blades above his head in an X-block, catching the second man's knife between the trident-like prongs that curved outward from the weapons' hilts. Ki twisted his wrists to wrench the man's trapped blade from his grasp, and at the same time executed a forward snap-kick to the man's head. The sailor was somersaulted backward, his jaw broken by the incredible impact of Ki's steely, stiffened toes against his chin.