Rules of Honour (35 page)

Though, if he failed to save his mother, nothing would console him.

I thought briefly of Yukiko and her staunch belief in
giri
, and concluded that it was Rink’s burden of obligation to end this seventy-year loop of violence. The way I saw things, by extension that obligation was also mine. I was prepared to do anything to safely free Yukiko and end the threat to her. By throwing their lot in with Markus Colby, Sean Chaney and his men had just signed their death warrants.

I let Rink out of the sedan a good quarter-mile from where we’d been instructed to deliver Parnell and Faulks. He’d taken his gun and knife with him as he slipped away into the trees. He was gone from sight in seconds, and I knew that next time eyes were laid on him they would be a split second from death. I had my SIG, but I’d also grabbed the gun from the dead thug in the trunk when I’d searched him for a cellphone. The extra firepower would come in handy. While Rink went for his mom, I was to play disruption on the enemy lines. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have shot the messenger so quickly. Better that I’d disabled him first, demanded to know their numbers and strengths, and gained us an idea of what we were up against. But that’s me: ‘Impulsive’ is my middle name. Fuck the numbers, I decided, if I didn’t have enough bullets there were plenty other ways of killing men.

It had taken time to get to Upper San Leandro Reservoir, but by my reckoning we weren’t expected for a little more than an hour yet. Though the messenger and his sand-coloured car would be. I steered the car down a winding track towards a turning circle on a promontory overlooking the lake, driving with the lack of caution one returning to his friends would show. The headlights were on full beam for a reason. As I arrived I saw a cluster of vehicles, one of which I immediately recognised as the one that Markus Colby had so recently fled Clarendon Heights in. A van, and two other cars, could hold a number of men, but I didn’t think that was the case. Lit by my main beam was one sentry, standing smoking while he waited for his buddy to get back. As he saw me coming, he stepped out, flicking his cigarette butt on the hard grit in a shower of sparks. He took another ungainly step and I saw it was the man whose leg I’d dislocated back at Hayes Tower. I must have done a reasonable job at realigning the joint, because apart from some pain in his grimace of welcome he didn’t look too unwell. Shame. He was holding a hand cupped to his forehead, attempting to disperse some of the glare from my lights. Because of the stark beams he couldn’t make out my figure beyond them, but he recognised the car. He waved with his other hand. The mug wasn’t even armed – or if he was, his weapon was tucked away.

Parking the car, I made sure the lights stayed on full. Throwing open the door, I climbed out, but I remained bent over so he didn’t notice the disparity in height between me and his pal, and moved round for the trunk. I waved for him to follow. I popped the lid and it gave me some cover as he moved past the lights and alongside the car. My lights would have ruined his night vision, and the few seconds it took for it to adjust would have to do. I didn’t want to shoot this man. Not that he didn’t deserve a bullet, just that it was too soon to announce my arrival to the others further out in the woods.

He came around the car, wondering what I wanted to show him. I was leaning inside, covering the form of his dead friend. By the hiss of his breath I hadn’t fully concealed the corpse. He began to step away, to fumble with his coat as he went for a gun in a shoulder rig. Snapping a sidekick into his damaged leg, I followed it by ramming the point of my elbow into his throat. His busted knee buckled, and he began to fall, but his shout of alarm was wedged behind the collapsing cartilage of his voice box. He forgot about the gun as he tried to reshape his throat with his fingers. I almost felt sorry for the punk. Almost. But there was no place for pity now. Grabbing his chin in one hand, the crown of his skull in the other, I twisted his head like a large stopcock.

The trunk of the sedan was spacious, but not large enough to contain both corpses. I left the second thug lying where he fell, and the trunk lid open. If any of their pals should spot them, then all the better. It would help throw confusion and fear into their hearts, make my job all the simpler. I didn’t wait but began a slow run down a path leading towards the abandoned hall that Rink mentioned earlier. Partly I wished more of the gang had been waiting at the turning place, because that would have meant fewer surrounding Yukiko when we arrived. Superior numbers did not concern me, but the fact that any one of them might choose to employ Yukiko as a human shield did.

Out there in the woods, approaching from another direction, Rink would be figuring a way to reach and safely free his mother. By now, he should have been in place. It was down to me to make his task achievable. While he employed stealth, I had to cause discord and panic, draw the bastards to me instead of letting them barricade themselves within the lodge. I began snatching at the branches of trees as I jogged, making noise that any listeners might hear, but which would also confuse them. A determined enemy wouldn’t make such a noisy approach, would he? Their attention would be piqued, but their response would not at first be deadly while they came to check things. Or that was the plan.

Plans and me don’t always work out.

A gun blasted from about thirty yards ahead of me on the path.

The accuracy of some handguns is notoriously poor, but that wasn’t what saved me. The darkness, the lack of surety of the gunman, the racket I was making, all helped throw off his aim. In fact I’m not full sure he fired directly at me, but perhaps into the air to warn the others. Whatever the case I kept running, unimpeded by injury, using the flash of gunfire to lead me to the gunman. Someone crashed through the bushes, getting off the trail, looking for cover. Now that bullets had been fired there was no requirement to hold my own fire. I lifted the appropriated Glock I’d taken from the messenger and fired at the rattle of fronds. I tracked the movement, aiming a foot or so in front of the source of the rattle of breaking twigs. A grunt, followed by a body hitting the earth, rewarded me. Covering the fallen man, I moved to check on him. When I arrived, I found a thick-necked punk lying on his back, his eyes glazing as he stared up at the night sky. I didn’t know the man’s face, and for the briefest of moments thought about the irony of how this man had died, having not seen the face of his killer either. Scum like Sean Chaney gathered men like this around them, like fleas to a mutt.The man had a life, hopes and desires of his own, yet he’d died needlessly to appease his boss man’s selfish ends. This punk wasn’t an enemy; he was simply a faceless drone to be dropped before I reached the big kahuna himself. There would be more just like him.

From somewhere to my right a voice loudly queried what was happening. The words were indecipherable, more of a shout of alarm than anything. I ignored it and went on, winding my way along a path between tall conifers and maple trees, the grass springy underfoot. Via Markus Colby, Sean Chaney’s instructions had been explicit – bring Parnell and Faulks, no cops, no weapons. Well, one out of three wasn’t bad. Yet the abruptness of gunfire might force Markus or Chaney to go through with their threat that Yukiko would die if we welched on the deal. I didn’t think that would be the case. While confusion reigned, they’d keep her alive. I hoped. But then, that eventuality couldn’t be relied upon, certainly for any great length of time. I had to hit them hard and fast.

With the Glock in one hand, my SIG in the other, I advanced, moving now with more caution as I approached a clearing, a warning sign marking the entrance.
Danger
was displayed in faint weatherworn lettering. Never was a truer word said. Someone hidden in the lea of a sagging building opened up with a sub-machine gun. I’d heard enough of them in my time to recognise the weapon as an Uzi SMG. The gun had a cyclical rate of fire of around six hundred rounds per minute. The guy was panic-shooting and bled the thirty-two rounds in his magazine within four seconds. Still, it was a long four seconds while I threw myself to the ground and listened to the shredding of foliage above me. As the rattle of gunfire stopped, and the gunman cursed, fumbling to eject and reload a fresh magazine, I came up and put two bullets in his body, one from each of my guns. Another one of the faceless drones went down, never to rise. I experienced no sense of irony this time. I was in that zone where all that mattered was to kill or be killed, and any man pointing a weapon at me was to be cut down. Fourteen years of black ops had conditioned me to the frame of mind, and it could only serve me now.

Shouting began from within the decrepit building. I caught a flash of light, but someone had the good sense to douse the lamp, to make them difficult to target. Some gung-ho fool came running out, firing blindly as he raced to gain a flanking position on me. Crouching in the tree line, I targeted him: a cluster of rounds through his upper thighs and he pitched face first on the deck. He wasn’t dead – not yet – and he started howling blue murder, as was my intention in not killing him outright. If I’d nicked a femoral artery he wouldn’t be screaming for long, so I needed to make the most of the disconcertion the others had to be experiencing. With no idea where Yukiko was being held, I couldn’t blindly fire into the building for fear of hitting her. Better that I draw the others out, offering Rink room to move.

I fired once, presenting muzzle flash, but immediately scooted away, placing a tree trunk between the lodge and me. At the far corner, a man leaned out and fired at where I’d crouched seconds earlier. He loosed half a dozen rounds. I waited until the last to let out a startled yelp, before shaking the bushes next to me, as though falling back. I made a loud moan as I moved silently out of the way.

‘I got the bastard,’ the gunman crowed.

‘Careful,’ another cautioned. I hadn’t been aware of this man, hiding out behind a pile of logs to my left.

‘I heard him fall,’ the first said. ‘I got the fucker.’

‘Take it easy. He might still be alive. Chaney said he had a buddy with him; watch out, man.’

‘We have to get Boyd out of the way. We have to stop his goddamn screaming before he brings the other to us.’

‘Leave him, there’s nothing you can do if the bastard out there is still alive.’

The gunman had a sense of loyalty usually found lacking in these types. He came out from hiding, first checking on his fallen comrade, before seeking out where I’d fallen.

‘Cover me, I’m going to check.’

In less than a second, the gunman came at a crouching run, his gun held out in both hands as he homed in on the spot where he thought I’d gone down. I ignored him momentarily, watching as the second one lifted his head above the stack of logs to follow his progress. On my left he made for a poor target, but I’d trained myself to shoot with both hands. My right hand’s better, but the left’s not too shoddy. I squeezed the trigger of the Glock and it bucked in my hand. A cloud of blood and hair puffed from the top of the man’s head and he sank below the line of logs. The running man skidded to halt, barking out a curse, as he understood they’d been suckered. He swung his gun, shooting at my muzzle flash, but that was OK. My arm had been outstretched, well away from my body, and it was through empty space that his bullets flew. Calmly I lined him up with my SIG and shot him in the face. Throughout, the leg-shot man, Boyd, hadn’t stopped screaming. But he’d realised he was not yet dead. He clawed his way around, lifting his gun, and he fired at me.

I was running at him.

One of his bullets punched my shoulder. I’ve been hit there before and know just how agonising and debilitating such a wound can be. Without thought I understood that his round had not found flesh, but only the cloth of my jacket. I barely missed a step as I fired with both guns, a double tap to his central mass as I charged by him and pressed myself tightly to the lodge wall. I smelled mildew and rot, a heady aroma tinged by the more acrid cordite wafting in the breeze. From within came harsh whispering. Two voices belonging to Chaney and Markus. There followed a thud of feet on stairs. I slipped my SIG in my belt, checked the Glock and found the mag still half full.

Judging by the number of vehicles on the turnout I’d expected more defenders than those I’d gone up against, but didn’t doubt that Rink had accounted for some of the others. I could only hope he’d reached a good position, now that I’d compromised mine.

‘You out there,’ a voice bellowed. ‘Drop your gun or – by God – I swear the old bitch will die.’

I recalled Sean Chaney’s bullfrog croak from the BART carriage.

‘Isn’t going to happen, Chaney,’ I called back. ‘Your best bet’s to hand her over – unharmed – and you’ll be given a chance. If I come in there I’ll be shooting. You understand that?’

‘Come in, I’ll kill you.’

‘I’m not interested in you. It’s that other bastard I want. You there, Markus?’

‘He’s with the old woman,’ Chaney shouted. ‘He’ll do her in a second. Do you hear me? Come inside and the Jap bitch dies.’

‘If that happens, I swear to you, Chaney, you’ll beg for death before I’m finished with you.’

‘Like I said: come in. I’m not about to be suckered like that time on the train.’

‘You’ve had all the warnings you’re getting. This time I won’t be going for a leg shot.’

‘You shouldn’t have last time,’ Chaney crowed.

He fired and bullets punched the wall. The timbers halted most, but some cut through the rotted wood or found chinks between the caulking. Good job I’d already flattened myself to the dirt floor. As chunks of wood jumped in the air above me, I rolled clockwise and placed myself belly down in the gap in the doorway. Chaney was a huge amorphous silhouette, darker than the darkness around him. From my prone position I fired.