Operation Caribe

15

SUNNY HI LED them out of the nursery and into a large, well-appointed office one room over.

The office was something a Wall Street executive would love. Clean desk, a battery of computer terminals, more artwork.

Again, not very piratelike.

Sunny Hi checked his watch. It was exactly midnight—after the long, strange trip, Nolan and Twitch had made it here right on time.

Sunny Hi then made a cell phone call and had a quick, hushed conversation. This done, he went to a wardrobe in the corner of the office and took out a full-length black leather coat, a small, tight-fitting black beret, and a pair of enormous wraparound sunglasses. He put on the coat and the beret and adjusted the dark glasses just so. In those few seconds, he went from caring family man to some dark and dangerous character.

He noticed Nolan and Twitch’s reaction to his transformation.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “My job is all about image. But no matter what I look like—you two will be my friends forever.”

He led them to a hidden door in the far corner of the office, next to the computer terminals. On the other side of the door was an elevator. Three enormous bodyguards were already on board, waiting.

Sunny Hi stepped on; Nolan and Twitch followed. One bodyguard pushed a button and the elevator started going down.

They were still descending two minutes later. It occurred to Nolan that they were riding inside the pipe he’d spotted before they’d entered the gigantic house.

When they reached the bottom, Sunny Hi opened the elevator door—and Nolan found himself looking out on the worst Shanghai jiuba yet.

It was small and smelly, with only one light, a dim, pulsating bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling. The bar itself was tiny, and there were very few bottles of liquor behind it. Yet there were at least fifty people jammed in here. Most were pirates, no doubt.

They cheered when Sunny Hi stepped out of the elevator.

“This was where my gang got started,” he said to Nolan and Twitch. “This little place, with a lot of these same people. They are my friends, too, and I never forget my friends or my beginnings. That’s why I built my house directly above this place. So I could always come back down here and remember how it all began.”

Nolan scanned the room again, this time studying all the armed men gathered here. They looked like the road company for an old-time buccaneer movie. All shapes and sizes, scars, weird beards, bald heads, loop earrings, tattoos. Most interesting, though, they were all races and colors—and apparently languages. In other words, Nolan could have blended into this place with little more than his eye patch and a few well-placed fake tattoos.

Son of a bitch, he thought. This whole nip-tuck thing wasn’t even necessary.

The three enormous bodyguards immediately formed a phalanx in front of Sunny Hi and led him across to the bar, Nolan and Twitch in tow. The crowd parted for the head pirate, but not with as much speed or reverence as Nolan would have expected.

He’s one of them, Nolan found himself thinking. And they are like him. Pirates, to the end.

Sunny Hi brought them to a small table circled by chairs filled with boisterous pirates holding fistfuls of money. Two Asian men were sitting at the table, and at first, Nolan thought they were playing cards. But while the table did have a deck of cards on it, it also held a pistol and a small bowl full of bullets.

That’s when he finally caught on.

The Ba Xi. The Game.

It wasn’t poker, or blackjack, or craps.

It was Russian roulette.

Sunny Hi cornered the man in charge of taking bets. He indicated Nolan and Twitch. “These two men are my friends. They will bet the maximum on both parties in each round, courtesy of me. Understand?”

The betting chief understood. What this meant was, no matter the outcome, Nolan and Twitch would win. And judging by how much money was in evidence, any win would be a substantial amount of cash.

The room quieted down. With Sunny Hi on hand, the game—and the drama—could begin. The two men at the table were trying to stare each other down. One wore a red bandana, the other a black one. Both were sweating and breathing heavily. A man sitting nearby was acting as a referee. On a sign from Sunny Hi, the man cut the deck of cards, coming up with a red eight. The crowd erupted in cheers.

The man wearing the red bandana got to spin the weapon. He did so, but the muzzle wound up back pointing at him. His face fell as he took the gun, put in one bullet, spun the chamber and put it to his temple. More yelling and cheering from the crowd. Much money changing hands. Then the referee shouted: You xi!

Play!

The man pulled the trigger.

Click.

The crowd cheered wildly. With much relief, the man with the red bandana pushed the pistol over to his opponent. This man picked it up, spun the cylinder and put the muzzle up to his head.

The crowd went crazy again. More money went back and forth. The ref yelled the command again. You xi!

The man squeezed the trigger.

Click.

Another wild cheer from the crowd. Money was falling like confetti.

The man with the red bandana picked up the pistol again, and a new twist was added. He took a second bullet from the bowl and inserted it into the chamber. Now with two live rounds in the six-shot pistol, the chances that the gun would go off were one in three.

The crowd was at fever pitch. The man spun the chamber and put the gun to his temple. More money, more screaming, with Sunny Hi leading the chorus.

The man squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The bloodlust in the room rivaled the thick, smoky air. The man with the black bandana picked up the gun and spun the chamber. Thousands more dollars changed hands. The man put the gun to his head and squeezed the trigger.

Blam!

Half the man’s skull wound up on the wall nearby. The crowd cheered wildly and even pushed his corpse to the side to collect their winnings. Two kitchen boys appeared, threw the dead man onto a stretcher and started to carry him away. Another worker did a rough cleanup of the gore on the wall and the floor nearby.

Then the drinks flowed again.

Sunny Hi turned to Nolan and Twitch. “This is my gang,” he boasted. “Anyone who wants to be a part of it must be willing to take risks. Because with those risks come vast rewards.”

They watched as the stretcher bearing the dead man passed them and disappeared through the kitchen door.

“Besides,” Sunny Hi said, “the worst thing that can happen is that you’ll die an interesting death.”

At that moment, though, Nolan was still looking for a way out of this mess. It was like a bad dream running on a loop inside his head. No weapon. No plan. No way to complete the mission. Again, their Delta training told them that in situations as extreme as this, the prudent thing to do was to just withdraw and try again another day.

Twitch, though, had other ideas.

“I’ll play,” he told Sunny Hi.

The gangster was surprised—Nolan was floored.

“I didn’t mean to suggest,” Sunny Hi began stammering. “You are my guest, and—”

But Twitch cut him off.

“No—I want to play,” he said. “Right now.”

Nolan tried to grab Twitch, to stop him from doing this, but it was too late. Twitch had found a red bandana and had wrapped it around his head. The crowd went insane—the visitor wanted to play, and they found this tremendously exciting. All Nolan could do was watch.

Twitch sat down at the table. The crowd re-gathered around him. Another pirate was pushed forward and sat down across from Twitch, putting on a black bandana. This man was about three times the size of the diminutive Hawaiian and looked drunk and heavily stoned.

Twitch contemplated him, then suddenly yelled: “Let’s go all out!”

His opponent was confused. He screwed up his face and asked: “All out?”

Twitch laughed manically, then took the gun placed before him and filled the chamber until it held not one bullet, but five.

“Yes—all out!” Twitch yelled again. “Reverse Russian roulette!”

The crowd was thunderous with delight. Once again, thousands of dollars changed hands in seconds. They gathered in even tighter. But this was strange—so strange even Sunny Hi looked a little on edge.

Without the slightest bit of hesitation or fear, or feeling, Twitch hissed at his befuddled opponent: “Do you feel lucky today, punk?”

It was at that moment that Nolan knew Twitch, already unstable, had completely lost his mind.

The gun was placed in the middle of the table. A card was drawn to see who would spin the weapon. Twitch won. He spun the gun violently. His huge opponent looked extremely nervous. The tension in the bar was almost unbearable.

The huge handgun stopped spinning, its barrel pointing at Twitch’s opponent.

This man was now sweating profusely. He suddenly had no stomach to play this revised game.

But when he went to reach for the pistol, to the surprise of everyone in the room, Twitch beat him to it.

“Let me show you how it’s done!” Twitch yelled, knocking the man’s hand away. He picked up the gun, spun the cylinder, put it up to his temple and squeezed the trigger.

Nolan couldn’t look.

It took forever, but then finally he heard …

Click!

The crowd roared. Money began flying around the room once again.

Twitch then passed the pistol to the man on the other side of the table.

The man was shaking mightily, sweat pouring down his face. He picked up the gun, spun the cylinder and put the muzzle up to his own temple.

He began to squeeze the trigger—again, Nolan just couldn’t look.

Click!

It was unbearable. Nolan was trying to get Twitch to look at him, but his colleague’s eyes were insanely fixed on his opponent.

The room never stopped going crazy, with money changing hands and much yelling and screaming. Standing right next to Nolan, even Sunny Hi was transfixed as Twitch picked up the gun again and put it to his temple.

But at that moment, Nolan realized something: Twitch hadn’t spun the revolver’s cylinder. That meant a bullet had to be in the firing chamber.

Twitch began laughing crazily again, never taking his eyes off his opponent.

He began to squeeze the trigger.

And finally, Nolan couldn’t help himself.

He screamed: “F*ck, no!”

And this time, something actually came out.

But it was too late.

Twitch pulled the trigger, but the gun was no longer against his temple. It was up on Sunny Hi’s forehead. The bullet hit the gangster right between the eyes. His head came apart as he was thrown backward, toppling over the table and collapsing it.

Then, with eerie calmness, Twitch fired one bullet into the head of each of the gangster’s three bodyguards standing nearby.

With the last bullet, he shot out the room’s only light.

* * *

RUNNING.

That’s all Nolan could do. The light went out, gunfire erupted, bullet trails streaked through the room, and the next thing he knew, he was running. In fact, Twitch was yanking him along as if he could see where he was going when no one else could.

They went out through the kitchen—the lights in here had gone out, too. A stream of bullets followed them, smashing into bottles, pans, kettles, glasses. So many rounds were ricocheting around them, it looked like a laser light show. Combined with the sound of people screaming and cursing in many languages, it was deafening.

Nolan had no choice but to follow Twitch’s lead. They found themselves running through endless hallways, up and down stairs, coming to blind corners, turning back, trying to stay as low as possible as a continuous fusillade went over their heads.

Finally, somehow, some way, Twitch found a door. He hit it without slowing down, breaking it off its hinges.

They were outside.

They stopped a moment to catch their breath. They were on a typical Old Shanghai street, twisting, turning, smelly and full of trash. A maze of alleys surrounded them. Instantly there was an armada of SUVs behind them, and many people were firing lots of weapons at them.

Again …

But this time, something was different. They had no idea where to go …

Then Twitch sniffed the air.

“Follow me!” he yelled to Nolan. “The water is this way!”

And for the first time in the whole f*cked-up night, it seemed like one of them actually knew what he was doing.

So off they went.

They ran and ran and ran—dodging bullets, people, cars, diving for cover, keeping as low as possible whenever they could. And Nolan stayed glued to Twitch’s tail. It was his show now.

They ran for five minutes nonstop. Then they turned a corner and suddenly were running past the Mister Donuts coffee shop.

Then, two blocks down and over one, they were running underneath the elevated highway.

Gunfire still rattled behind them, but it was getting more distant with each block.

Every place they came to looked familiar. Somehow, Twitch knew when to turn and when to run straight.

They ran past the butcher shop their car crash had destroyed. The street in front of it was filled with crushed vegetables and chicken feathers. They ran a few more blocks and found themselves passing the Red Lantern, its two massive bouncers barely noticing them run by. Twenty blocks later, they were running past the Sea Witch, pausing just long enough for Twitch to curse at the female dwarf still sitting by the door.

“You little bitch!” he screamed.

And then, somehow, they reached the waterfront—and found that the Ocean Song was gone.

Nolan and Twitch finally stopped running, collapsing on the pier, violently out of breath.

“Those a*shole twins,” Twitch gasped. “They must have been serious when they said they were taking the ship.”

Nolan couldn’t believe it—yet it was the only explanation.

But where was the rest of Whiskey?

Behind them now they heard not only the unmistakable roar of many SUVs heading in their direction, but also the wail of sirens.

The gangsters and the cops were chasing them.

“And the way those guys drive,” Twitch said, “they’ll be here in thirty seconds.”

In fact, they could already see the cascade of headlights heading their way.

That’s when they spotted the remains of the large crate lying on the dock in front of them.

Stenciled on one of the wooden pieces were the words: OPEN ONLY IN EMERGENCY.

Then, amid the cacophony of sounds, they heard a voice:

“Hey! Up there!”

They both looked over the side of the pier, down onto the water—and saw what might have been the most beautiful sight ever: the Arado Ar-95W seaplane.

All unfolded, engine turning, ready to go.

Batman stuck his head out of the cockpit and yelled up at them. “What are you waiting for? You got half of China on your ass!”

At that moment, the sky opened up and the rain came down in buckets amid glaring lightning and booming thunder.

But it was still not enough to drown out the sound of the small army of gangsters and cops racing toward the docks.

Nolan and Twitch immediately jumped. They hit the water at the same time, creating a mighty splash just off the seaplane’s left wing.

As soon as they surfaced, the Senegals were leaning out of the plane’s rear hatch, yanking them aboard.

“What the f*ck happened?” Crash yelled as they were pulled into the seaplane’s passenger compartment.

“We greased the bastard!” Twitch yelled back. “But nothing went like it should have!”

“Join the club,” Gunner said. “Or did you not notice the f*cking boat was gone?”

“Yeah we know,” Twitch said. “These two identical-looking a*sholes had it moved by their gang. They’re the same guys who got my watch.”

Gunner and Crash looked at each other for a moment.

“Someone has your watch?” Crash asked. “Because we’ve been watching the transponder’s receiver all night and we thought you guys were just sitting in a bar someplace.”

Twitch made as if to hit them, but then just laughed.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

“Well, luckily we had Plan B here,” Gunner said, tapping the interior of the seaplane. “We kept this thing in the crate up on the dock. When those a*sholes came to take the ship, we just left quietly, and off they went. Then we unfolded this thing and we’ve been waiting for you ever since.”

“Yeah, well, wait until those a*sholes find out all that sugar is really sand,” Crash added.

Stevenson and Mace quickly checked out Twitch and Nolan. They declared for the moment neither looked worse for the wear.

Twitch ran a towel over his head, drying himself off, and then passed it to Nolan.

“Are you all right, Major?” Twitch asked him. “It’s OK to answer me now. It’s OK to talk.”

Nolan dried off his face and wiped his good eye. Everyone jammed inside the plane was looking at him. So he opened his mouth—and to his great relief, words did start tumbling out.

“Thank you, brother,” he said to Twitch with a croak. “Thanks for getting us out of there and saving my life.”

They gave each other a bear hug.

“Anytime, Major,” Twitch told him. “Though I got to admit, it wasn’t as much fun as I thought it was going to be.”

Batman had started taxiing the airplane out into the harbor by this time, but it was hard to see, the rain was coming down so hard. The only illumination he had to navigate by was coming from the frequent lightning flashes.

But now, mixed in with those flashes, were streaks of tracer fire. Back by the docks, three separate groups were shooting at them: the gangsters who had been chasing them all along; their old friends the Shanghai police; and now the military boat that had been cruising the harbor, the same one they paid off earlier.

Sirens were going off. Bells were ringing, Klaxons screaming.

They got to the middle of the harbor somehow, though.

“I just hope all the wood in this thing really does make it a low-tech stealth plane,” Nolan yelled ahead to Batman in the cockpit. “If not, we’ll have half the Chinese Air Force on our tail.”

“We’re going to find out,” Batman yelled back to him, gunning the seaplane’s huge engine.

They were dangerously overloaded, with a dozen people crowded onboard. Still, Batman managed to get the plane up out of the water.

Through a huge barrage of gunfire and lit by the nonstop lightning flashes, the plane climbed into the storm and escaped over the horizon.