Snake Eye (28 page)

Having moored the rubber boat Kwong made his way up a short metal ladder and climbed up onto the barge. “You don’t know how to row, and you look like a fool,” Lei said in Mandarin.

But the younger man didn’t know any Chinese and was clearly confused. “What?”

“I said you row extremely well, and look very intelligent,” Tian Lei lied.

“Oh,” Kwong said brightly. “Thank you.” And made his way back towards the stern. Two of Lei’s technicians had overheard the interchange and found it difficult to contain their laughter as the snakehead passed by.

Rossi watched the interchange between the two men through what had become her favorite crack, an open space that was about a quarter-inch wide and four inches long. Thanks to it, and a few others, the FBI agent had been able to spy on both the snakeheads and the pyrotechs. It was obvious that they weren’t on friendly terms. That was important because if Rossi wanted to escape, which she very definitely did, it would be necessary to disable or kill one of the guards—a difficult task at best, and most likely impossible, were one or more of the technicians to get involved.

Now, as Kwong made his way toward the stern, Rossi eyed the man she had chosen as her opponent. He was the smallest of the bunch, which would help even the odds, and based on what she’d been able to observe, the newest. That made Kwong less confident than the others and prone to mistakes. “Okay,” the FBI agent whispered to her daughter. “Here he comes! It’s time to take your position. And remember, no matter what happens next, stay in the corner.”

Missy, her eyes big, said, “Yes, Mommy,” and scampered over to the bunk beds that occupied one wall of the cabin. The plan was for her to take refuge on the top bunk while her mother ambushed the guard. “We could wait,” Rossi had explained, “and odds are that help will come for us. But independent women like ourselves don’t sit around waiting to be rescued.”

That was what her mother
said
, but Missy didn’t think it was true, especially the part about someone coming for them. It seemed obvious that nobody knew where they were—which was why it was necessary to handle the situation themselves.

Rossi heard a double thump as Tom-Tom’s boots hit the deck. He was a gangly kid who spent most of his time sitting on a stool, and rarely removed the earphones that were clamped over the top of his knit cap. It had earflaps, which made him look more like a beagle than a hardcore gang banger, but there wasn’t anything comical about his cold empty eyes—one more reason why the FBI agent had chosen to go one-on-one with Kwong instead.

But would she get to? The answer to that depended on what happened next. Kwong was carrying a sack, which if past experience was any guide, would almost certainly contain two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a thermos of hot chocolate, a small mercy that the prisoners had come to look forward to.

If Tom-Tom stayed, while Kwong opened the door, then the prison break was off. But if Tom-Tom left, and Kwong was stupid enough to enter alone, then his ass was hers. Surprise, plus the three-foot long piece of two-by-two that the agent had pried loose from the lower bunk, would make up for the difference in size. Then, armed with Kwong’s .357 magnum, the rest would be relatively easy.

Words were exchanged outside as Rossi glanced over toward the bunks and saw the pale blur that was Missy’s face.
Okay, asshole
, the FBI agent thought to herself.
Come to momma
.

Tom-Tom nodded as Kwong approached. “Hey, K-man. How’s it hanging?”

Kwong made a face. “It’s so cold I don’t think I could find it.”

Tom-Tom issued a sound that might have been a laugh or a hacking cough. Then, with earphones firmly in place, he walked away.

Certain that this was her chance Rossi took up a position next to the door. The lock rattled as Kwong inserted the key. Hinges squealed and the door opened. It was stupid to enter the cabin without checking first, but that’s what the guard did, and paid the price. The FBI agent swung the two-by-two with all of her strength, felt it connect with Kwong’s unprotected mid-section, and heard a whoosh of expelled air as the snakehead doubled over in pain.

Rossi brought the stick back and was just about to take a cut at the gang member’s head when Tom-Tom appeared in the doorway. “Hey, dude, don’t forget to…” The agent never got to hear what Kwong was supposed to remember because that was the moment when Tom-Tom saw Rossi standing over the guard and realized what had just taken place. The agent tried to shift her attack, but she was poorly positioned to deal with someone in the doorway, and was still making the necessary adjustment when Tom-Tom struck. He had big bony fists and one of them struck her head like a sledgehammer. Rossi took a second blow, lost her balance, and fell. That was Tom-Tom’s cue to kick her with his lace-up combat boots. The agent felt a rib break and heard Missy shout. “Mommy!” Rossi was trying to summon the air necessary to yell
No
! when the youngster launched herself off the top bunk.

Tom-Tom was thrown forward as Missy landed on his back. Then, with her arms wrapped around the gang member’s scrawny neck, the pre-teen held on. The snakehead stumbled, and was about to topple forward, when Kwong came to his rescue. Embarrassed by the manner in which he’d been suckered, and desperate to redeem himself, the smaller man jerked Missy off Tom-Tom’s back and threw the ten-yea-old across the cabin.

Rossi swore, and tried to rise, but was felled by another blow. At that point all the FBI agent could do was assume the fetal position and bring her arms up to protect her head. But Tom-Tom had tired of the exercise by then. He drew his handgun, aimed it at Rossi’s skull, was just about to pull the trigger when Kwong intervened. “Don’t do it, man. Joe will be pissed. He wants the bitch alive.”

Rossi closed her eyes and wondered if she would hear the explosion when the gun went off. Seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity. Finally there was an exhalation of breath followed by an almost imperceptible click as Tom-Tom let the hammer down without firing the .44. “You’re right, K-man. We taught the bitch good! She won’t try that shit again.” Rossi battled the tidal wave of darkness that threatened to overwhelm her as the door swung closed, felt her consciousness start to slip, and was forced to succumb.

Missy tried to pull herself up off the floor, realized that something was wrong with her right arm, and felt a stab of pain. Was the limb broken? Yes, the pre-teen believed it was. She wanted to cry but bit her lower lip instead. “Mom? Can you hear me?”

Not receiving any answer Missy made use of her good arm to capture and control the injured limb. The pre-teen winced as she struggled to her feet and stumbled across the cabin to where her mother lay. She felt dizzy and there was a thump as her knees hit the floor. “Mommy. It’s me, Missy.”

There was a vast emptiness in the pit of the youngster’s stomach as she fumbled for a pulse. Mrs. Ebbers, her health teacher, had taught all of her students how to do that never imagining that one of her charges might employ the skill under such harrowing circumstances. After three attempts the ten-year-old eventually found a thready pulse. Her mother was alive! That made the youngster feel better, for a moment at least, before the dull ache began to assert itself. Then, with her good arm wrapped around her mother, Missy fought to keep the darkness at bay.

It was the morning of December 31, and thanks to the fact that most of Seattle’s office workers had the day off, the Bell Town area was nearly deserted. The absence of external
activity, combined with the fact that Jack Dexter had already finished what little work there was to do, left the businessman feeling lethargic. And that was why he was seated at his desk, tossing paper clips into an empty Starbucks cup, when a nicely dressed woman entered the lobby.

The ex-naval officer couldn’t make out her features at first, not through the etched glass that separated them, and something about the way the woman carried herself caused his heart to jump. Had Rossi been sent to speak with him? Or better yet, come of her own volition? The possibility brought Dexter to his feet.

But it wasn’t to be. When the door opened it was another woman who entered his office. She was pretty and had dark hair, but the similarity ended there. “Good morning,” the ICE agent said gravely. “My name is Olivia Inez—and I’m with Immigration and Customs Enforcement.”

Inez showed Dexter her credentials but the businessman barely took notice. He forced a smile. “I’m Jack Dexter—but I suppose you know that. Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?”

Inez had seen video of the man and caught a glimpse of him on Whidbey Island, but had never been up close to him. Now, as she looked into the ex-naval officer’s eyes, she could see what Rossi saw. If Dexter was a pervert, he was a
complicated
pervert, and might have redeeming qualities.

But Inez had her game face on, which meant that none of her inner feelings were visible as she sat down and looked across the mostly empty desk. Their eyes met and the ICE agent noticed that Dexter’s expression was uncertain. Was the visit about Chow or him? He wasn’t sure. Inez cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to inform you that Special Agent Rossi is missing.”

There was no mistaking the look of alarm on Dexter’s face. “Missing? How? When?”

“The day before yesterday,” the ICE agent replied. “Joe Chow and his men abducted both Christina and her daughter in broad daylight at the Northgate Shopping Mall. They left a note threatening to kill them if we continue the search for Chow. That won’t stop us of course. We don’t cut deals with hostage takers.”

Dexter felt an almost overwhelming sense of guilt. He was the one who constructed the room that led to Pasco’s death and Rossi’s abduction. “That’s horrible,” the ex-SEAL said hoarsely. “How can I help?”

“We believe that Rossi is being held somewhere in Seattle,” Inez answered. “The question is where? Together with the SPD, the FBI, and other law enforcement agents, we are turning the city upside in an attempt to find her, and we’re interviewing all of Chow’s known associates, which includes you. Perhaps he told you something that would provide us with a lead. Places he liked to go, things he liked to do, that sort of thing.”

Dexter shook his head. “Nothing comes to mind. Not at the moment. He wasn’t very talkative. Not with me anyway.”

Inez nodded. “I understand. “Here’s my card. If you remember something please call me day or night. If I don’t answer leave a detailed message and I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.”

The woman stood so the ex-naval officer did likewise. “Agent Inez…” Yes?

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble—would you call me when you find her?”

Inez nodded and plucked one of the cards out of the holder on his desk. “Yes, I will. And oh, by the way, we would appreciate it if you kept this interview to yourself.”

“I will,” Dexter promised. “And thank you.” Dexter opened the door for his visitor and watched as she crossed the lobby and exited through the front door. A cold breeze found its way in, chased a leaf across the tiled floor, and suddenly ceased to exist.

After Agent Inez left, Dexter moped around his apartment for a few hours before opening the refrigerator and noticing it was nearly empty. So, partly out of necessity, and partly because he had nothing better to do, he decided to go shopping. Like all the denizens of the downtown area, the ex-naval officer had two choices. He could get in his SUV and drive to a supermarket up on Queen Anne, or over on Capital Hill, or he could make his way down First Avenue to Seattle’s world famous Pike Place Market. After a moment’s reflection the second option got the nod. Perhaps the friendly hustle-bustle of the place would help take his mind off Rossi and Missy.

Having bundled up against the cold, and with two sturdy canvas bags in which to carry his groceries, the businessman ventured out into the unwelcoming arms of the year’s final day. There wasn’t much traffic as he hiked more than a mile down to the corner of First and Pike and turned right. From there it was a short walk down to the slightly funky and always colorful marketplace. The crowd was thin, and many of the stands were empty, but a few were open for business. Further back, he could see display cases packed with seafood and windows full of baked goods.

And that’s where the ex-SEAL was, preparing to buy a loaf of fresh-baked bread, when he saw the flash of a familiar face. He couldn’t believe it at first—but a second look confirmed the first. Lena Ling, the very woman he had watched Joe Chow abuse, was standing not fifty feet away!

Ling was hungry and had been for more than twelve hours. So now, with only thirty-six cents left to her name, the illegal was about to steal an apple. There were bananas, and oranges too, but it was an apple that she wanted. The first step was to select a piece of fruit and examine it for soft spots, while the man who ran the fruit stand made change for a customer. Then, when he looked down, it was a simple task to drop the apple into the plastic bag that dangled from Ling’s left wrist.

But the fruit vendor had been working at the market for more than twenty years—and during that time he had witnessed every possible type of thievery. So, when a pretty but unkempt girl paused to examine his produce, he immediately put her down as a drug addict, street whore, or both. And, while watching from the corner of his eye, he saw the theft take place. “Hey,
you
,” the vendor said angrily. “Put the apple back!”

Ling turned and started to run. But the next vendor down the line was waiting. He grabbed the illegal’s collar and brought her to a stop. He was a big, burly man in a black watch cap and a red-plaid jacket. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said gruffly. “We’re tired of your kind. It’s back to jail for you!”

Ling was about to plead for mercy when another voice was heard. “Excuse me,” Dexter said, as he appeared out of the crowd. “Perhaps I can be of assistance here. My name is Dexter,
Father
Dexter, and Lena is enrolled in our “Off the Streets” program.”

He turned to the first vendor. “What did she take? An apple? Here’s a five, and I’m sorry about the inconvenience.”