Sarah Vessler crouched behind what was left of her wrecked Suburban’s front passenger side wheel-well, her LAR-15 clutched in her hands. Choi was crouched at the rear of the same vehicle, engaging in a lopsided duel with the machine gunners on the office building roof. Between them, the slumped form of Pelton lay up against the SUV. He was still alive, but in bad shape. Daniels was using the vehicle’s first aid kit in an attempt to save the young DEA agent’s life.
The sound of something crashing through the gate made Vessler look in the direction of the car, just as a dark colored van roared into view. She could see the upper body of a man firing at the office building, then launching a projectile of some sort toward the roof.
With grim determination, she rose and fired a burst in the direction of the cargo pallets already offloaded from the Seven Lucky Dragons. She yanked herself down as several streams of bullets from that direction tore into the Suburban. She heard a pop coming from the office building and moved to her right, raising her head just enough to see a cloud of expanding smoke. The man in the van fired another projectile at the roof. This time she saw it explode over the building, releasing another smoke cloud.
The black van skirted around the two Suburbans, putting their bulk between it and the machine gunners, who fired erratically now as the smoke interfered with their line of sight.
The van’s side door slid open and a woman who reminded Vessler of the aging hippies she dealt with over in the Haight-Ashbury section of the city stepped out. Only this hippie was armed and dressed for war in all black, with body armor. The hippie opened fire in the direction of the ship. Vessler heard more gunfire from the office building where the ambushers’ machine guns had been firing from, then the machine guns went silent.
“Is this all of you?” the woman demanded.
“Yes!” Choi shouted.
“Move it!” the man standing inside the van shouted, shooting a burst in the same direction as the hippie did. He followed it up with a projectile from a grenade launcher slung under the MP5’s barrel. “That tear gas isn’t going to last long!”
“Brock, Meechim!” Vessler snapped at the two survivors from the other DEA vehicle. “Help Daniels get Pelton into the van. Danny, suppression fire on my mark… Mark!”
Both DEA agents rose and fired long bursts, sending as many rounds as they could in the direction of the ship. The other three agents grabbed Pelton and dragged him toward the van. The man standing up inside the van fired another projectile from his grenade launcher, while the woman fired several short bursts. The two grenades the man had fired in the direction of the ship were spewing thick green and red smoke, blocking their view of most of the ship.
“Danny,” Vessler yelled, “Move it!” Both DEA agents sprinted for the van. The others were onboard, guns pointed in the direction of the smoke. Choi and Vessler leapt in, followed by the woman, who slid the door shut as the van’s driver gunned the engine and the vehicle shot forward.
“Who the hell are you guys?” Vessler demanded.
As Team Two moved down the hall, an Asian stepped into view ahead of them. Snarling something in Chinese, the man tried raising his AK-47, but died as three four-round bursts all hit within a heartbeat. The team sprinted until they reached the body, needing only a quick look to confirm the gunman was dead. Stephen kicked the AK away from the body while Naomi and Liam checked the stairwell where the dead man had come from. On a signal from Liam, all three opened their M203s, slipped in one of the olive drab shells and closed the breech.
The three ran up the stairs, leapfrogging each other as one covered the other two. They had just reached the landing between the second floor and the roof access when the door above opened. A group of Asian men came staggering down the staircase. There were dressed in business clothes, but all five had pistols thrust into their belts. The team recognized the eye-watering traces of CS gas, commonly known as “tear gas,” that wafted in with the men and instantly understood what had happened.
“Freeze!” Liam barked.
None of the men froze. Instead, they went for their pistols. All three team members triggered their grenade launcher, the buckshot rounds turning the grenade launchers into massive large-bore shotguns. The pellets ripped into the first three men, knocking them down like bloody pins in a macabre bowling alley. Short bursts from Naomi and Stephen dropped the other two.
The trio ran up the stairs, nimbly hopping over the bodies. On the roof, they quickly swept for more gunmen. Finding none, they raced downstairs.
Without warning, the speeding van made a bootlegger’s turn, tossing Vessler and the others around like dice in a cup. They rocketed toward the gate, leaving a thick cloud of smoke and the stench of burned rubber in their wake. The hippie put her MP5 down and grabbed a large first aid kit from a rack behind the driver’s seat. The man standing on the platform was firing in the direction of the ship. The driver, dressed like the other two, was fully focused on maneuvering at high speed.
The woman looked over Pelton, the first aid kit open next to her. After a few seconds she yelled up at the man in the hole. “Tanner! One seriously wounded, gunshots and other trauma!”
As they closed in on the gate, Vessler saw three figures in black charge out of the office building and climb into a second van.
Vessler leaned back against the van’s side and wondered who these people were.
CHAPTER THREE
Rhee scowled as the smoke obscured his view of the DEA agents. Someone had rescued them, someone with skill and knowledge.
One of his soldiers addressed him. “Sir, the men on the office building and the Chavez Street security team are not answering radio calls.”
“Because they are dead, or close it.” Rhee turned toward William Hong, the Mountain Lord, leader of the Black Dao Triad. While Hong was taller and heavier than the North Korean, Rhee had no doubt he could kill the Triad leader and his bodyguards without too much trouble. “We had better leave.”
“What about your men?”
Rhee snorted. “Those men were nothing more than dregs of the local underworld. Petty criminals and street hoods looking for an easy payday and a chance to avenge themselves on the police and society in general. Disposable and deniable assets.”
Hong’s expression reminded the major of a man who had bitten into something sour. “You assume that the Americans will roll over after losing a few of their agents.”
“We do not have time to debate this. I have shown you my skills tonight. But now, we must leave. Unless you want to explain to the Americans why you are standing here with a dozen dead DEA agents and police officers.”
Hong scowled, but barked out orders in Chinese and his men scattered. Rhee nodded and walked toward the cargo truck. The appearance of an unknown group was foremost on his mind. He needed to find out if they were a threat to his operation.
The rally point was a dirt lot west of Interstate 280 and by the time the vans arrived, there were several SFPD cars, a pair of ambulances and a late-model sedan with U.S. government plates waiting for them. Pelton was placed onto a gurney and carried to a waiting ambulance, the paramedics already calling out the patient’s vital stats. The rest of the DEA survivors and their rescuers climbed out of the vans. Overhead, a pair of CHP helicopters was heading towards the pier.
Vessler looked for the unknown team leader, stopping when she spied a familiar face. “Nay?”
Naomi Washington turned at the sound of her nickname, her expression a mix of surprise and pleasure. “Vess? That you?”