Authors: Craig Reed Jr
Red Ice (15 page)
San Francisco, California
2:15am
The next target for OUTCAST was an overnight casino fronted by a 24-hour mini-market in the Ingleside Heights section. The area was a mix of small stores and two-and-three story residences not far from Route 1 and less two miles from the Pacific Ocean. From the outside, the place looked like an ordinary small business. The only thing slightly out of ordinary was the excessive security cameras. Unlike most mom and pop shops in the neighborhood with a single lens over the front door, this establishment had multiple cameras covering all approaches to the store.
Danielle’s voice came over the radio. “Base to Prime: I’m in their network.”
Standing a block west of the store, Tanner and Naomi observed the store. Both were dressed in rough clothing different from what they’d worn when they hit the brothel. As before, both wore balaclavas on their heads and weapons under their coats. In addition to the clothes, they wore gas masks around their necks under their coats. “Copy, Base,” Tanner said. “What are we looking at?”
“I count three employees, all Asian. There’s a hallway in the back that ends at a door, one man on guard, also Asian. The door is steel, with a viewport.”
“Can you access the camera system beyond the security door?”
“Negative. The system must be internal only.”
“Two to Prime,” Liam interjected. He and Choi sat in a car parked in a driveway of a house for sale a block east from the store. “I can see a couple of guys heading toward the store coming from my direction. They should in your view right about … now.”
Tanner watched two men walk into view and go inside the store. “Base, do you have them?”
“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.
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.”
San Francisco, California
2:24am
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.”
“Yes sir. We are leaving now.”
“Do not let me down.” The connection went dead and Muhn pocketed the phone while addressing Hyoung. “Tell the men we are done here.”
Hyoung nodded. “What about the agent and his family? He and his daughter are still alive.”
“Kill them. Make it look like the Colombians did it.”
“Yes, sir.”
#
21 miles northeast of Sacramento, California
2:55am
Seonwoo Hun-Jai frowned as the truck he was riding in slowed to make a turn into Pace Farming Supply’s parking lot. There was a pickup truck parked in front of their target, and Seonwoo didn’t know if people were inside it or not. He raised his handheld radio to his lips. “Yoon, when we stop, we need to make a security sweep. We may have someone in the truck.”
“Yes, sir.”
The business consisted of a main store and four closely grouped warehouses next to it. The steel buildings were painted a grass green with white trim, featuring the company name on the sides. Inventory included garbage cans, bags of dirt, paving stones and other landscaping and farming supplies lying around in neat stacks.
Two of Myung’s unit had visited the business, picked up a few bags of fertilizer and marked the location of the ammonia nitrate. It was now up to Seonwoo and his team to grab as much as they could, as quickly as they could. Seonwoo’s driver, Rang, had been one of those recon operators.
Seonwoo pulled out his Baek Du San and threaded a suppressor onto the muzzle. With Interstate 80 only fifty meters from the parking lot in back, the last thing they needed was for anyone passing to hear gunshots. Like his men, he was dressed in all black and wore gloves and a ski mask, currently pulled up so that his face was exposed.
“Rang, stop here. Once we’re out, head for the warehouse.”
“Yes, sir.”
As soon as the truck stopped, Seonwoo pulled his ski mask down over his face, climbed out of the truck’s cab and dropped to the ground. From the rear of the truck, Yoon and the other two members of the team appeared, each carrying their own silenced Baek Du San pistols, also wearing ski masks. The truck rolled past the building and headed for the warehouse.
“Ready sir,” Sergeant Yoon said softly. Under the ski mask, he was moon-faced, with a shaven head and wide brown eyes that had fooled more than a few people into thinking he was naive. Many never lived long enough to realize it was a mistake.
“You and Dae check the warehouses. Ryeon and I will check the truck and the store. Be alert for alarms and cameras. Leave no witnesses.” The pairs split up and moved off in different directions.
Seonwoo lead the way, Ryeon behind and six steps to his captain’s left. They reached the building’s shorter side and flattened themselves against the wall as a car passed on the main street only twenty meters away. The pair was concealed in darkness and in shadow, but Seonwoo watched the car until it drove out of sight. He counted to ten, sidestepped to the corner and leaned around to take a look at the pickup parked in front of the store. He could see two figures inside, neither moving.
He pulled back and signaled to Ryeon with his free hand. The corporal nodded and the two threw themselves around the corner and charged the truck. Seonwoo took the driver’s side, Ryeon the passenger’s. There was still no movement from the vehicle’s occupants. With a nod from the captain, the pair grabbed the door handles with their free hands, their pistols pointing into the pickup’s cab. They yanked the unlocked doors opened.
The strong aroma of alcohol hit Seonwoo like a slap. The driver — overweight, thinning hair and red face — was asleep. Seonwoo fired twice, the two 9mm rounds striking the drunk driver in the head and spraying blood over the back window. On the other side, Ryeon killed the sleeping passenger in similar fashion. They closed the doors and continued along the storefront, checking the front door but finding it locked.
They turned and headed for the warehouses. Seonwoo brought his radio to his mouth. “Yoon, we found two drunks and eliminated them. Any problems?”
“None. We found no one.”
“Get to the nearest warehouse. We are behind schedule.”
By the time he reached the warehouse, Dae had already picked the lock and opened the doors.
“Get the truck inside.” Seonwoo said.
Rang backed the truck far enough into the warehouse so that the doors could be closed. Seonwoo ignored the earthy smell of the fertilizer stacks and watched his men work. As Rang guided the truck deeper into the warehouse, Yoon was showing Dae where the ammonia nitrate was, in a chicken wire and wood enclosure twenty meters from the door. They made short work of the padlock and opened the doors.
Seonwoo considered the dozen pallets inside the enclosure. “Rang, get the forklift. Yoon, stand by to secure the cargo. Ryeon, locate the fuel oil. Move!”
In less than five minutes the first pallet of ammonia nitrate was on the truck. Ryeon returned with several cans of fuel oil and joined his captain and sergeant in shoving the next three ammonia nitrate pallets into the truck.
In twenty-five minutes, the truck was crammed full of ammonium nitrate. Seonwoo pulled out a knife and motioned to the remaining bags “Open them and spread it around. Ryeon, spread the fuel oil around, including that wood. Yoon, find the sprinkler system and disable it.”
It took them a few more minutes to carry out these steps, at the end of which Seonwoo surveyed the handiwork. Satisfied, he nodded. “Let’s go.”
Rang eased the truck out of the warehouse and stopped. Seonwoo climbed out of the vehicle and walked back to the warehouse, a road flare in one hand. As he reached the now-nearly closed doors, he lit the flare. He stepped up to the opening and threw it inside. He watched it fly end over end until it landed in a patch of fuel oil, instantly setting it alight. He turned and walked away as Dae closed the doors and locked them again. The truck left the business without anyone noticing them.
Seonwoo waited until they had merged onto Interstate 80 before he used his phone.
“Yes?”
“Job’s completed, a couple of minor problems taken care of.”
“Good. After you deliver your cargo, I have a new task for your team for tomorrow. I will explain when you arrive.”
“Yes, sir.”
The line went dead and Seonwoo settled back to watch the road ahead.