Snake Eye (29 page)

Then, moving with the surety of someone who deals with recalcitrant street people every day, the businessman led Ling away. Though thankful for the manner in which the man had rescued her from what could have been a disastrous situation, Ling didn’t want to surrender her freedom and tried to pull away. But the ex-SEAL was prepared for that and had a good grip on her arm. “Think about it Lena,” he said. “You met me before. I own the apartment house where you and Joe Chow used to live.”

Ling had never been allowed to speak in his presence, so Dexter didn’t know if Ling could speak English, and if so how much. But he saw the look of understanding that appeared on her
face and hurried to take advantage of it. “Look, I know Chow is on the run, and judging from appearances so are you. I promise I won’t turn you in if you’ll answer a few questions. Do you understand?”

The twosome had come to a stop by that time. Ling had no reason to trust men, especially
this
man, since he had a relationship with Joe Chow. But she saw no lust in his eyes. Only a look of deep concern. Finally, after what felt like an eternity for Dexter, Ling said, “Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” the businessman said gratefully. “Promise you won’t run and I’ll release your arm.”

Ling nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

Dexter could run on the prosthetic leg, but knew Ling could probably run faster, and prayed that he wouldn’t regret letting go. But he knew it was important to build trust if he wanted to obtain accurate information. Slowly, one finger at a time, the ex-naval officer released his grip. Ling, true to her word, remained where she was. “Look.” Dexter said. “I suggest that we go to my apartment where you can take a bath, have a hot meal, and answer a few questions. Then, assuming you agree, I will give you five hundred dollars in cash.”

There was another pause while Ling thought about it. “No sex.”

“No,” the businessman agreed gravely. “No sex.”

“You let me leave?”

“Yes,” Dexter assured her. “I will let you leave.”

“Okay,” Ling said solemnly, imitating the way she had heard Chow do business. “But you give two-fifty up front.”

The businessman grinned. “You came to the right country, Lena. It’s a deal. I will give you two hundred and fifty dollars as soon as we enter my apartment. But, before we go there, you must answer a very important question. Joe Chow took a woman and her ten-year-old daughter. They are in great danger. Can you tell me where they are?”

Ling shook her head. “I leave Joe four-five days ago. No woman-girl then.”

Unfortunately everything about Ling’s tone and expression suggested that she was telling the truth. Dexter, who had been hoping for a miraculous breakthrough, felt an almost overwhelming sense of disappointment. Still, it was possible that Ling could provide him some sort of lead, so a little hope remained.

The businessman knew he should call Inez, and turn the illegal over to the proper authorities, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, partly because he felt sorry for Ling, and knew what would happen to the illegal if he called ICE, but also because of a quixotic desire to somehow put things right all by himself.

It was a short taxi ride back to the apartment house where Dexter showed Ling into the bathroom, demonstrated the way that the lock worked, and invited her to take a shower or bath. Then, once the water began to run, the ex-naval officer went out into the sixth-floor lobby. He broke the seal that the police had placed on Joe Chow’s front door, entered the apartment beyond, and headed for the master bedroom. In their hurry to leave Chow and his mistress had been forced to leave a lot of clothing in the big walk-in closet. Dexter grabbed an armful of female garments, carried them back into his apartment, and heaped them in front of the bathroom door.

Then, satisfied that Ling would have something clean to wear, and having removed some cash from his safe, the ex-SEAL returned to the kitchen where he made tea. The pot of hot water and a selection of tea bags were waiting for the freshly scrubbed young woman when she reappeared. Her hair was damp, but her clothes were clean, and there was a shy smile on her face. “Thank you.”

Dexter handed her a cup. “You’re welcome. I’ll give you a duffle bag so you can take the rest of the clothes with you. Here’s half the money I promised you—and there’s soup on the stove. It will be ready in about five minutes. Now, given how urgent the situation is, may I ask you some questions?”

Ling took her first sip of tea. It warmed the pit of her stomach. No one had been polite to her in a long time. It felt good. “Yes,” she replied. “You ask.”

The ex-SEAL had been taught how to interrogate prisoners and put that knowledge to work with a series of gentle but carefully framed questions. It wasn’t long before he had a chronology for the hours and days immediately after the shooting. Someone like Inez, or Rossi for that matter, might have been interested in the particulars of who Chow spent time with, and the nature of such relationships, but Dexter was listening for something else. What he wanted was some clue as to where Rossi was being held. And eventually, just as Ling finished her second cup of soup, he heard one. “Chow took you aboard a barge?” the ex-naval officer inquired. “Whatever for?”

“He not tell me,” Ling answered simply. “But it have fireworks. For New Year.”

Dexter felt a rising sense of excitement. Fireworks! Of course! Everyone knew that Samuel Chow sponsored the annual New Year’s Eve fireworks display over Lake Union. He looked at his watch. It was 7:32 p.m. and already dark. The barge would already be in position as people from all over the city streamed into the Gas Works park. Would the authorities think to check it? No, that didn’t seem likely. Which made it the perfect place to hide. “Okay,” the ex-SEAL said. “Tell me about the barge. Every detail that you can remember.”

So Ling told him. And while Dexter was interested in everything the young woman said, he took particular note of the fact that what the illegal described as a “house” occupied one end of the barge. Ten minutes later the businessman had everything he was likely to get. “Alright,” Dexter said. “Eat the rest of the soup if you want it and I’ll go get the second half of your money.”

The ex-naval officer returned to his safe, removed both of the handguns he kept there, along with all of what he thought of as his emergency fund. He slipped a couple of hundred dollars into his pocket. Leaving weapons behind, Dexter returned to the kitchen. “Here,” he said, as he handed Ling a thick stack of currency. “There’s a couple thousand dollars. Enough to get you out of Seattle. It’s a big country. Make a life for yourself.”

Ling frowned. “Five hundred. We agree. Why more?”

Dexter looked away. The memory of how Chow had removed the illegal’s clothing and raped her was still fresh in his mind. “I don’t have time to explain—but I owe you more than five-hundred dollars. More than two thousand, but that’s all I have on hand.”

Ling didn’t understand, but the man was obviously sincere, and she needed the money. “I take it,” the illegal said decisively. “For my sister.”

The businessman wasn’t aware of a sister, but nodded politely and glanced at his watch. “Look, I’m sorry to run, but that’s what I have to do. I’d invite you to stay, but that would be a mistake. I’m going to be in big trouble by nine o’clock this evening and the police will come here. I won’t tell them about you, but they will figure it out, so get on the next Greyhound bus. You don’t need any I.D. for that—and it’s cheap.”

Ling had happened across the bus depot during her wanderings and considered making a trip to California, but lacked the necessary fare. Now, with plenty of money, she could buy a ticket. “Thank you. I go.”

Five minutes later, duffle bag in hand, the illegal was gone. Dexter returned to his closet,
opened one of the built-in drawers, and found what he was looking for. There were two boxes of ammo for the Heckler & Koch P7 that he had purchased for himself after being discharged from the service, and one box of .45 ACP for his father’s Colt Ml911.

So, with two extra magazines for the P7, and one for the .45, the ex-SEAL figured he would be able to put out a pretty good rate of fire. A shotgun like Rossi’s would have been nice, but he didn’t own one, and something like that would show.

It took fifteen minutes to charge all the clips, load both weapons, and change
into
black clothing. Then, just as he was about to leave, Dexter put in a call to Agent Inez. However the ICE agent was at a New Year’s Eve party. The cell phone was in her purse and Inez was about twenty feet away when it rang. Dexter waited for voicemail, left a message outlining what he believed to be the situation, and felt a sense of relief as he put the receiver down. It was stupid, the ex-lieutenant knew that, but he didn’t want any help.

Having locked the apartment Dexter rode one of the elevators down to his truck. It felt like a thousand butterflies were flying in formation in the pit of his stomach and his nerves were on edge, but there was a welcome sense of anticipation too. It stemmed from a need to do what he had been trained for—to find the enemy, and if necessary, kill him.

With only thirty-seven minutes left until midnight and the beginning of the new year, Joe Chow eyed the scene around him. Having blown away the clouds, and exhausted itself in the process, the southwesterly wind left the surface of Lake Union looking like black glass. The fireworks barge was surrounded by a flotilla of pleasure craft. Their running lights sparkled like red, green, and white jewels. Further out, all along the lake’s gently curving shores, thousands of people were preparing to watch the display from rooftops, balconies, and parks, with half a million more getting ready to watch the extravaganza on television. All the while the snakehead and his men hid in plain sight! The thought pleased Little Chow and caused him to smile. The voice came from behind him. “Hey, boss. I think we have a problem.”

Chow turned to face Paco. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Skinner opened the cabin to give the law bitch some food. She looks pretty bad.”

Chow swore. Rossi was his ace in the hole, his last bargaining chip if the authorities managed to track him down, but only if she was alive. So what did dumbass Kwong and shit-for-brains Tom-Tom go and do? They damned near beat the agent to death! It was an act so stupid, it nearly left him speechless. “Okay,” Chow responded. “Let’s take a look.”

Paco led the way, and as the two men started down the central walkway, Tian Lei and his pyrotechs could be seen tending to what the fireworks master sometimes referred to as his “children,” all under the watchful eye of an officious but not especially bright fire inspector. He assumed that since most of the men on the barge were Asian, all of them reported to Lei. So far no one had seen fit to put him straight.

Plywood boxes had been installed on either side of the elevated walkway. Each box contained multiple racks, and each rack contained a cluster of mortars, all of which were grouped by caliber and packed in sand. The shells had been loaded into polyethylene mortars by that time and covered with tinfoil, which was held in place with duct tape. The purpose of the tinfoil was to protect the unexploded shells from the flaming debris that would rain down on the barge once the mortars began to fire.

And, making the entire endeavor that much more complex, was the fact that each shell or bomb was wired to a laptop computer located in the booth that Lei and his men had constructed in the bow. Once launched, the computer program would control the entire show. The fire
inspector, who was down on his knees next to one of the plywood boxes, didn’t even look up as the snakeheads passed by.

Skinner, Tom-Tom, and Kwong were waiting next to the cabin when the snakehead arrived. The last two looked worried—not for Rossi or Missy, but for themselves. Chow was pissed. They knew that and feared his wrath. “Okay, let’s have a look at her,” the snakehead said irritably. “And keep an eye on Mr. Fireman. Head the bozo off if he starts to come this way.”

Metal rattled as Kwong unlocked the door, and a beam of light stabbed the darkness as Tom-Tom began to probe the cabin’s interior. The blob of white light caressed the wooden walls before wobbling onto the bunks where two pale faces could be seen. Rossi blinked as the light speared her eyes and wondered how many men were standing behind it. Not that it mattered much, because although she could move, the pain from the broken rib would prevent her from taking on one snakehead, much less two or three. That didn’t mean the FBI agent couldn’t
shoot
the bastards though, which was why she had resisted her daughter’s attempts to clean up her bloodied face and sat huddled beside her. Maybe, if she could convince the snakeheads that she was harmless, she would be able to lure one of them in close. Then, if she could get hold of his weapon, a whole lot of people were going to die. It was a long shot, Rossi knew that, but a long shot was better than no shot. A man spoke and the agent recognized the voice as belonging to Chow. “Damn, woman. You look like forty miles of bad road.”

Consistent with the part she was playing, the FBI agent ran her tongue over dry lips. “Water…. Thirsty….”

Chow took the flashlight away from Tom-Tom and moved in closer. Rossi’s left eye was little more than a reddened slit. Her left cheek was a dark shade of blue and badly swollen. At some point, her upper lip had been cut and dried blood was caked on her chin. The little girl looked frightened. Tears made tracks down her dirty face. Two pieces of wood, both pried loose from the lower bunk, had been used to fashion a splint for her arm. The supports had been tied in place with pantyhose. Missy cradled the injured arm the way a mother would cradle a baby.

“C-c-cold,” Rossi said pitifully, and it was true. The two of them had been hugging each other for hours using their combined body heat to stay warm.

“Give them your coats,” Chow ordered, looking from Kwong to Tom-Tom.

“But it’s cold!” Tom-Tom complained. “We’ll freeze.”

“You should have thought of that earlier,” the snakehead replied angrily. “Now take off your fucking coats or I’ll blow your god-damned heads off!”