Blood and Ashes Read online

  ‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing?’

  Snatching the FBI ID badge from his pocket, I threw open the door. ‘I’m improvising.’

  I approached two men on motorcycles who had been weaving through the stalled traffic, stepped in their way, forcing them to stop, and held up Vince’s badge. Rink clambered out of the limousine, Vince calling after him. ‘Hey, I can’t just abandon a government vehicle like this. They’ll have my ass if it doesn’t go back in one piece.’

  Rink leaned back inside. ‘So stay here. Leave what needs doin’ to someone who gives a shit.’

  Cowed, Vince came out of the car, jabbing numbers into his phone. I didn’t know who Vince was calling – and I didn’t really care. Vince swore as he listened to what was most likely a recorded announcement stating his call couldn’t be connected. All over Manhattan other callers would be getting the same message as telecommunication systems overloaded. Vince returned to the car and used the satellite phone instead.

  When he came out, we were straddling the two motorcycles while their owners stood kicking at the road surface in bewilderment.

  ‘What about me?’ Vince asked.

  ‘Get on the back,’ Rink said. ‘Or stay with the car, the choice is yours.’

  Vince took one last forlorn glance at the Lincoln, then he climbed on the motorbike and wrapped his arms round Rink’s middle. ‘Y’know,’ Rink grinned, ‘I always wanted to commandeer a vehicle like you see the cops do in the TV shows.’

  We set off, weaving our way through the stalled traffic. Some drivers had left their vehicles and were standing in the road, hands on hips or shadowing their eyes as they sought some sign of the catastrophe a couple miles away. We shouted at them to move. A few cars picked up scratches as we squeezed through. There was a bottleneck where the jam had bunched up at the intersection for the Williamsburg Bridge, but then we found a clear stretch and hit the throttle, making up ground. At a turn-off I went right, swooping back under FDR Drive with Rink and Vince hurtling along behind. We skipped through service alleys, dodging parked vehicles and dumpsters, and came out on to surface streets that would take us back to Delancey where the Red Moon Club awaited.

  As we sped along, I thought about how this entire thing had started with a red moon over Bedford Well; now I was approaching another. I considered how symbolic that might be: would this be where the trail ended for me? Only one way to find out, I decided.

  The news of the bombing in Lincoln Square had apparently reached the interior of the go-go bar, bringing a halt to the proceedings as even the scantily clad dancers had jumped down off bar-tops to stare at TV sets or to try phoning home. Some had tried leaving the bar, to find that they had been blocked by a cordon of FBI agents and NYPD cruisers. The customers and staff were in a mild panic, which had grown ten times worse when the small group of Koreans realised who the real prisoners here were. By the time we arrived, the scene had descended into chaos.

  In fear of injuring any of the innocents inside the bar, the law enforcement officers had refrained from returning fire, but the Koreans had no such scruples. The front windows were smashed, glass glittering on the pavements, and gunfire rang out, forcing the cops and FBI to take cover. Already it looked like the Koreans had tried to make a break for it via a side entrance, but a cop car had been driven directly up to block the door. The door was pocked with bullet holes, as was the cruiser.

  Vince was first off the motorbike, running to the officers in charge who were squatting low behind a NYPD cruiser across Delancey. I let him go, because, unlike the cops, I had no intention of trying to end this in a peaceable fashion. I pulled out my SIG and angled for the corner of the Red Moon, hearing boots slapping the pavement behind as Rink hurried to cover me. The Koreans weren’t the only ones without scruples.

  Slamming my shoulders to the red-brick wall, I saw Rink come up close to my side, raising his Glock. There were shouts coming from the cops, but they’d recognised us as allies, so I wasn’t fearful of being gunned down. Vince snapped off orders at the scene commanders, and that was all the notice we gave them.

  I was one for direct action. Always had been. Forget intricate plans, because anything more than getting in there fast and hard wasn’t worth its weight in horse crap.

  Inside the bar someone was shouting, the sing-song strains of an eastern language made discordant by anger and fear. I zoned in on the voice, which located one of the Koreans no more than ten feet away on the right. I measured my breathing with the man’s screeching, then stepped forward, leaned in the window and fired a short burst of tightly grouped rounds. The man went silent.

  There was a moment of shocked awareness that the tide had suddenly turned, and into this space I threw myself. The Devil himself could be waiting inside, but I didn’t care; I was going to assault him in his lair if it meant saving Manhattan from a further descent into hell.

  Chapter 39

  At the time it never entered my mind that I was engaged upon anything other than a righteous track. As perpetrators of the terrorist attack on Lincoln Square, the Koreans were as guilty of the atrocity as Carswell Hicks was, and all the proof I required was that they had reacted to the police’s arrival with deadly force in their attempt to escape. Beyond that I had no idea who they were or why they’d chosen to come to a go-go bar when a dirty bomb had targeted the very city they were in. None of that meant anything as I vaulted inside the Red Moon. It was enough that they were murderers of innocent people and I had a duty to make them repay that crime with their blood.

  Inside the main bar area it was dark, but coloured strobes bounced off the metal poles where girls had recently been dancing. A large plasma screen flicked through images of devastation streamed directly from Lincoln Square by circling media helicopters. I saw movement, the staff and punters caught in the middle of the gunfight seeking cover or escape. On my left lay a dead man, the muscular Korean that I had already killed. I moved to the right, placing the thick wooden bar between myself and where I guessed the other Koreans were. Aiming high, I fired twice, smashing a retro-style disco ball to smithereens. Glass tinkled and a kaleidoscope of colour exploded throughout the room as the strobes refracted wildly in all directions. People yelled and screamed which provided the ideal cover for Rink to come inside.

  Rink scrambled over. ‘This would be so much easier if we didn’t have to keep one of the frog-giggers alive,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s always the hard bit.’ We scanned the area at the back of the bar room. Now that everyone had had the good sense to dive for cover no one remained in sight. There was a doorway on one side, behind a beaded curtain. It corresponded to the position where the NYPD cruiser had jammed the door shut. ‘You think there’s another way out?’

  ‘I’m guessing the cops already have that covered.’

  Standing up was a calculated risk but no bullets came our way.

  Dropping down again, just in case I was wrong, I said, ‘I’m thinking that our Korean friends have headed upstairs.’ The Red Moon Bar was in a converted walk-up residential building. On arrival, I’d noted that it was an old structure with only two levels and a flat roof, dwarfed on either side by more modern constructions. ‘Hopefully Vince has positioned snipers to watch the roof, which means they’ll be on the upper floor.’

  Rink glanced at his Glock, no doubt wishing he’d brought a Mossberg 500. The assault shotgun was always his weapon of choice for this kind of work. Heavier firepower came in handy when clearing a building while going room to room. He chewed a corner of his mouth, then waved the Glock. ‘Suppose this’ll have to do. You want me to go first?’

  ‘Go for it, I’ll be right behind you.’

  Rink set off, using the bar for cover as he rushed to the far end. I scanned the room for any sign of danger. Rink positioned himself at the far end, his Glock levelled, and now I sprinted forward and past my friend. I made it to the back of the bar room where I rested with my back to the wall, the TV playing over my shoulder. A brawny man lay
on his back, staring through sightless eyes at the ceiling. Doorman, I guessed, who’d tried his best to stop the Koreans; unfortunately his best hadn’t been good enough. Another man, a small ferret in comparison to the dead bouncer, was crouching in a nook beneath the dance stage. He pointed up, confirming my assumption that the Koreans had sought higher ground. I aimed the SIG at the stairwell. A sign tacked to the wall pointed to restrooms upstairs. A toilet was as good a place as any to find crap.

  A scantily clad woman jumped up from under a nearby table, running screaming for the front door. I let her go, making my way instead into the stairwell. Rink moved to the position I’d just vacated. Then I entered a space that was one of the most dangerous for anyone tasked with clearing a building. On the stairs there was the twin disadvantage of being on the lower ground and confined in a narrow place. I went up the stairs with my left shoulder tight to the wall. Anyone above would have to exit fully from the door on the left before they would see me ascending.

  Three steps down from the landing, I twisted across to the opposite wall and covered the open door while Rink came up the stairs. Down in the bar there was a rush of bodies as the staff and clientele made a break for freedom. They would be replaced within minutes by the police storming inside.

  ‘Where are you, you chickenshit muthas?’ Rink whispered to himself.

  Normal practice would see Rink move on while I covered him, but before he could do so, I went up the remaining stairs and into the hallway. It was bad enough that Rink had followed me to his possible doom, let alone allowing him to go first. I searched the dim space ahead. Someone, probably the Koreans, had flicked off the lights. At the far end the doors to the restrooms were edged in a pale glow. They wouldn’t be cornered in there; too constricting. There was another door on the left. As I crept along I noted that there was no light on in the room beyond and surmised this was where the Koreans were waiting. Still, we couldn’t ignore the toilets. I’d have felt stupid if someone burst out from behind one of those doors and cut me down, though not for long, I thought grimly.

  Using hand speak, I motioned Rink on, directing him to check the restrooms. Rink went without comment, padding silently along the hall. How such a large man could move as quietly as an errant breeze through tall grass always impressed me. I stepped out, raising the SIG to offer cover. Rink opened each restroom in turn, nodded the all-clear. I went down on one knee, crouching over to make the smallest target possible. Nudged open the final door.

  Gunfire rang out, tearing up the wall above and behind me. Plaster particles drifted down. I ignored the sure death whizzing inches above my head, noting and zoning in on the muzzle flash of a semi-automatic handgun. Returning fire, I used the flashes as a gauge, and heard a high-pitched scream that was immediately curtailed when I fired another round at the source of the noise. Something thundered down, shifting stacked furniture by the sound of the resulting crash and rumble.

  Rink sped to replace me at the door frame and I went inside. I got a snapshot image of the room, analysing it in the same moment I checked both sides were clear of danger. I dashed to where I’d brought down one of the Koreans, placing the ill-stacked pile of tables and chairs between me and the length of the room. The dead man had knocked over a table, which gave ample cover, and I peered round one side of it. The windows had been painted over in an attempt at sparing less-open-minded individuals getting an eyeful of what happened inside the Red Moon’s upper level. Still, the years had conspired against the coating of paint, flaking it away in places so that bars of light cut through the dim interior. Motes of dust and a trail of cordite drifted through the laser-cuts of light, giving the room the look of a haunted space. The room had been partitioned off with rails from which drapes made private enclaves. In each booth was a mattress. It seemed that some of the dancers sidelined in further acrobatics for those willing to pay for a private show.

  Before we’d left Walter, the CIA man had told us there were four Koreans, though this hadn’t been confirmed. Any more than that and resistance would have been much more concerted than it had. In all likelihood therefore we had an equal number to contend with. The difficulty being, while we intended taking at least one man alive, the Koreans wouldn’t be working under such constraints.

  From below came the rumble of feet as the NYPD or FBI entered the Red Moon. Time now was the issue, because they’d be coming up and maybe they wouldn’t be as indiscriminate about collateral damage this time.

  Rink hollered a command in Korean. I understood enough of the language to get the gist: put down your weapons. Do that, you live, refuse, you die. The answer was much easier to comprehend. ‘Fuck you!’

  ‘You speak English?’ I demanded.

  ‘Better than your friend speaks Korean, Yankee.’

  ‘So you know that when I tell you you’re fucked, I’m telling the truth?’

  ‘If that was true, then you wouldn’t be waiting for me to throw down my gun, and come out with my hands up. Go ahead, Yankee. You think I’m finished, go ahead and see what happens.’

  ‘OK. But you know how this is going to end, right?’

  ‘Yes. I will kill you and every Yankee who comes into this room.’

  ‘You sound pretty sure of yourself.’

  ‘I am Korean.’

  Rink grunted something that was a curse in any language. ‘Goddamn pussies, you’re all wannabe Japanese, but very poor copies. C’mon asshole, put down your gun, let me show you the real deal.’

  ‘Ha!’ said the Korean. ‘I am Kwon. I will destroy you.’

  ‘The Hand, huh? C’mon out here and I’ll shove it up your ass like you’re a glove puppet.’

  ‘I would crush you in seconds.’

  ‘So let’s do it. I’m guessing your Korean style is as inferior to karate as everything else.’

  It would have been laughable if the situation wasn’t so dire. Listening to the loathing between two Eastern nations was no different to arguments that raged the world over. Allowing Rink and Kwon to exchange insults, I crept round the stack of furniture. Directly ahead was one of the booths and I slowly slipped the curtain aside and stepped over a futon-style mattress lying on the floor. Kwon evidently couldn’t see me, because he continued to trade insults with Rink. I was no idiot, though, and credited Kwon with as much sense. The Korean was trying to play us as much as we were playing him. Rink was keeping Kwon busy, and Kwon was happy to oblige while the fourth Korean moved to a better position. I readied myself.

  Had only seconds to wait.

  As Kwon screeched something in his own language, the hidden Korean came out from the next booth, levelling his pistol at Rink. I didn’t bother with a warning shout; bullets were much faster. I merely caressed the trigger of the SIG, fired a single round that punched into the would-be assassin’s neck. The man fell to the side, becoming entangled in a curtain that wrapped round his body as he fell. Following the movement, I saw that the man was dying but still able to pull a trigger. Shot him again, once in the heart, once in the head.

  Kwon fired, forcing me to skip away to avoid joining the man on the mattress. Rink’s Glock made a rattle like a firecracker, bullets firing as rapidly as he pressed the trigger. The sounds of Kwon running for cover came to me, even as I tore a way past a curtain and through another booth. Footsteps sounded loud on the stairs as law enforcement officers hastened up.

  If the cops came in the room we’d never get the chance we needed. Terrorist or not, Kwon would be arrested and afforded the treatment laid down by law. Torture wouldn’t be permissible.

  ‘Rink! Get the door,’ I shouted, trusting that he would hold back the stampede while I got the job done.

  At the same time I moved, and that was good because Kwon fired at the sound of my voice. Bullets tugged at the drapes, continued on and smashed one of the painted windows. Mid-afternoon light flooded into the room, the moving curtains causing a ripple and sway of shadows. I moved with them, dodging through the room like a living silhouette. Saw a figure ten feet a
head.

  Again I wondered about how fate played games, how I’d travelled from one red moon to another. I remembered the cockerel-crowing man I’d strangled to death under that first moon and how he’d fancied himself as a tae kwon do expert. Kwon had the build of a fighter, and listening to his bravado, I guessed that the Korean was a true tae kwon do exponent, probably from military service since all soldiers in the North Korean army had to train to black-belt level. I was no black belt, had never felt the need to test my abilities when every day my work had done that for me. But the notion was there of how I wouldn’t mind testing Kwon in combat. The pain from my injuries had miraculously fled now that I was fighting for the lives of countless others, and the challenge of taking down Kwon could do my self-worth nothing but good.

  But this was no place for egotism.

  I shot Kwon clean and simple. That put paid to any number of black belts the man might hold.

  Kwon howled, rolled on the floor, holding his damaged knee to his chest.

  ‘Drop the gun or I’ll shoot you again.’

  Kwon howled even louder, interspersing his scream with a rapid-fire curse. This time I didn’t catch a single word.

  My gun spat again.

  Now Kwon didn’t know which knee to cradle, so dragged both of them to his chest. ‘You dog, you shot me!’

  ‘And I’ll shoot you again if you don’t drop the gun! Believe me . . . I’m not fucking around with you.’

  Moving close, I pointed the SIG directly at Kwon’s head. The Korean’s face was pinched tight with agony, tears streaming from his eyes. If hatred was flame it would have seared me to the core.

  ‘Now!’

  Kwon threw the gun from him. ‘I surrender, I surrender, OK, Yankee? You have me. Now you must arrest me and get me a lawyer.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ I kicked him in his shoulder, knocking him over on to his back. ‘See, we’ve got a problem . . . I’m not a cop.’

  Rink came up to my side, covering Kwon with the threat of his Glock. ‘And you’re not such a big guy now, Kwon.’