The Deaths of Tao (22 page)

She checked the time and called up Tammy, ignoring her assistant’s groan of indignation as she ordered several more reports prepared by the time she got into the office. Then she set up an appointment with the Deputy Assistant Secretary of Trade. If the trade list was expanded to Taiwan, Japan, and South Korea, there was suddenly a frightening list of materials that could pose a serious threat to the Prophus after all.

 

NINETEEN

AMBUSH

I was in the first wave sent to test these new evolved creatures. Several hundred of us migrated our primate hosts into their valleys and joined Cro-Magnon tribes. Another wave was sent to various Neanderthal tribes. It was then that I realized the potential of this new species.
 

To this day, an argument still rages about whether the Neanderthal or the Cro-Magnon was worthier of being raised. Make no mistake; it was the Quasing who raised your forbearers. We were your evolution. That decision, though, did not come without conflict.
 

Tao

 

That is your third bowl. Stop eating.
 

“You know what, Tao? I have a new rule. As long as I have a six pack, I can eat as much as I want.”

You have not had a six pack in four years. And when you did, you kept it for less than a week.
 

“You know what, Tao? As long as I have a four pack, I can eat as much as I want.” Roen reached out with his chopsticks and picked up a piece of blood pork sausage for emphasis. This stuff was damn good. Over the past three weeks, he had learned the secret of cuisine on the island. The people of Taiwan cared little for aesthetically pleasing food. Half the stuff he’d eaten looked downright indigestible – stuff that Jabba the Hutt ate. The other half looked like it would leap off the table and eat him. After the first week, he had overcome his fear of ugly food and now tried every morsel of Taiwanese food he could get his hands on. He was rarely disappointed.

We did not come all this way for you to could dim sum your way to obesity again. When this is all over, you are going back on the regiment.
 

The consensus was that Ahfu was best hole-in-the-wall restaurant in all of Taipei. Roen knew that to be a fact because there was a sign in front of the restaurant declaring just that. And after discovering this little gem in a side street off the market and eating three meals a day there every single day, Roen wholeheartedly agreed with the assessment.

The restaurant was in a rickety wooden building that defied gravity just by standing up. The walls were a patchwork of metal, wood, and flaking paint that probably violated a dozen health codes. But the dumplings were delicious, the taro puffs were spectacular, and the sesame balls were... Roen had no words to describe how good they tasted. There was this sticky rice wrapped in khaki green bamboo leaves that could cause world peace.

You can start your new job on the Food Network another time. We have work to do.
 

Roen reluctantly agreed. Faust and Wuehler sat across from him at the wobbly table. Faust had discovered this gem of culinary mastery with Roen, and the two single-handedly kept the place in business. At first, Wuehler objected to planning in a public place. Then he tasted their pork buns. Now, he held all their meetings here. Today, they had the restaurant to themselves except for an elderly woman sitting in the corner drying bamboo leaves on a small line hanging from the wall. Roen suspected she lived in the back, seeing how she was there every time they came.

“Taipei’s a dead end,” Faust was saying. “Almost a month; not a trace. Not one hit at the other safe houses and nothing from the locals.” It was shocking that Dylan had somehow not registered a blip here. Roen was now entertaining the possibility that his friend had died. “You’d think he’d meet up with one of our established contacts,” Roen mused.

“Except one’s dead, one is senile, and the last one is a double agent,” Wuehler remarked. “I wouldn’t risk those odds either if I were him.”

“Wait, we’ve got a double agent on the payroll? Why are we putting up with this? Hell, let’s go take him out.” Roen complained with his mouth full. “After dinner, that is.”

“Because the others are dead and senile,” Wuehler repeated.

We have too few eyes on here as it is. Better to receive information we don’t trust than to receive nothing at all.
 

Roen shook his head. “I make minimum wage, and we’re paying double agents? We need to vote in fresh blood in Command.”

Faust raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know we were a democracy. In that case, I’d like to be Secretary of Transportation. My campaign motto will be ‘No more flying coach.’”

Roen gave him a thumbs up. “Got my vote there.”

Wuehler threw up his hands. “Do we have any leads at all?” His frustrations would have seemed more impactful if he didn’t have a pair of chopsticks in one hand and a steamed bun in the other. “What about the escape pod debris? Anything worth sifting through? They did find one intact.”

Faust shook his head. “Quarantined by the police. The closest Ashish got to it was two hundred meters when they dragged it to shore to repaint.”

“Why would they do that?” Wuehler frowned.

Faust grinned. “I believe that escape pod has been officially drafted into the Taiwanese navy.”
“Maybe if we redirect our focus away from Taipei...” Wuehler said.

Roen, blond-haired man in dark sunglasses just passed by three times in the past two minutes. Confirmed visual on you every time.
 

An image of a young familiar-looking guy wearing a brown leather jacket popped into his head. Flanking him were two others in similar attire. Roen had seen his share of operatives to detect the forced casualness in their demeanor. These were apex predators about to spring in for the kill. He slowly put up a hand and cut off Wuehler mid-sentence.

“Go hot,” he mouthed. “Out the rear.”

Faust and Wuehler, with their backs to the entrance, followed the order without question. They slipped their hands in their coats and clicked their safeties off.

Wuehler nudged Faust with his elbow. “Get on the comm. I’ll go first.”

Faust nodded as Wuehler lazily stood up, stretched, and strolled toward the back exit.

“You next,” Roen said.

Faust shook his head. “Not leaving a host to cover our rear. Get going.”

“I got the visual. You go. That’s an order.”

Faust hesitated before standing up. Roen heard an “I outrank you” as he walked past. Just as Faust left his line of sight, he heard four sharp pops in the air behind him.

Different barrel signatures. Not a one-sided exchange.
 

Immediately, Faust sprinted toward the back. Roen overturned the table and ducked behind it. The blond kid and two men suddenly appeared, spraying bullets through the entire restaurant.

Full automatics. You are outgunned.
 

“You mean my peashooter doesn’t do thirty rounds in four seconds?” Roen peeked over the edge of the table and returned fire. He grabbed one of the table legs and pulled it with him as he retreated. Behind him, he heard the two-tone popping exchange again, soon joined by a third. Faust must be getting in on the fun. In front, Blondie’s two friends were at the sides of the entrance laying suppression fire while he stood behind them with his arms crossed over his chest. There was something serial killer eerie about the kid.

Stay near the side flank. Civilian on your right.
 

The old lady screamed and she tried to crawl toward the kitchen on all fours. The Genjix were spraying fire indiscriminately through the entire restaurant. The stupid woman was actually moving toward the crossfire! Roen peeked over the side again and was rewarded with an exploding splinter that nearly took his eye out.

Leave her. You will only draw fire to her.
 

Roen cursed. Tao was right. He began to drag himself toward the exit when he caught sight of the old woman pleading for help. Roen swore again. There’d be no way the big guy in the sky was going to let this one slide if he left grandma out here like this. He took a deep breath and unloaded his clip at the one of the guys in the entrance. Once they retreated behind cover, he leaned out, grabbed her by the collar, and yanked her behind the table like a rag doll. A fresh hail of wood splinters exploded around them. A jagged seam appeared down the middle of the table. This thing wasn’t going to hold out much longer.

After all these years, you still listen like crap.
 

Roen motioned for her to stay low. The table was quickly being whittled down into firewood. He had to draw their fire. Roen waited for a good time to jump toward the door but the gunfire didn’t let up. Then, a voice called out to him.

“Roen Tan, Come out!”

Roen perked up. He peeked over the jagged edge and saw Blondie stride into the restaurant without a care in the world.

“This kid must be mentally challenged.”

Or overly confident. Reminds me a bit of you.
 

“He must be really good then.”

Or just stupid. Like I said, reminds me of you.
 

“Roen Tan,” Blondie repeated. “I have waited a long time to finally meet you.”

“How did you find me?” Roen shouted. “Let me guess; you love the dumplings here too.”

Blondie smirked. “You’re not as good as you think you are. My men followed you after the meeting with the Bamboo Union.”

The one following Hutch must have been a lure!
 

Now, Roen took pride in tailing targets. He was very good at sneaking around, staying hidden, and following someone without being noticed. That skill, however, was far different from detecting targets. In that respect, Roen was only passable. So the tail he did find on Hutch must have only been a decoy to draw Roen out. He had fallen for their trap and led them right to his doorstep! Roen cursed his own stupidity.

“You are pinned down and my men have both exits covered,” the kid continued. “I am offering you a chance to live.”

Roen forced a laugh. “You think I’m going to surrender? Get a grip, junior.”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to surrender. I expect you to take my offer for a fair fight. No weapons. Hand to hand. To the death. If you win, my men let you go. If you die, well, you were going to die anyway.”

I do not like it.
 

The offer sounded too good to be true. Who did this kid think he was? Miyamoto Musashi? He didn’t even look old enough to shave yet. Roen could admit he wasn’t the best fighter in the world. In his book, Lin held that title, but he’d like to think he’d take the bronze.

About that overconfidence thing…
 

Roen slowly stood up, hiding his pistol behind the shattered remnants of the table. “Why are you offering me this?” he asked. “Selling life insurance too?”

The kid’s mouth curled into a sneer. “My name is Jacob Diamont.”

Roen shrugged. “And that means what?”

He was rewarded with pure rage on young Jacob’s face. That alone was worth the price of admission. Looking at the boy more closely, Roen noticed something familiar about him. Sean Diamont’s face had haunted Roen for years, that fatal night playing over and over in his nightmares. Most of Jacob didn’t resemble Sean, except those eyebrows. Those were definitely Sean’s eyebrows. But where Roen saw most of Sean in this Jacob kid was that smirk. And the nose maybe. The nose and those eyebrows and that smirk.

Interesting.
 

“Think I can take him?”

He is half your age.
 

“That’s what I’m worried about. At least I have a weight advantage.”

“So,” Roen said. “I put down my gun, and you put down yours, and then we try to kill each other like civilized men?”

Jacob raised the pistol in his hand, and then let it go. Time slowed as Roen’s eyes trailed the falling pistol. Another old memory he had long buried crawled back up his consciousness. Sean once offered a similar deal and had dropped his gun. Except when Roen had put down his gun, Sean murdered Abdul and Sonya. The pistol clattered as it bounced off the concrete floor. Roen gave that smirking Jacob one look and wanted nothing more again than to wipe it off his face. He raised his pistol and fired.

Roen had to admit; young Jacob was good. In the split second that Roen pulled the trigger, he closed the distance between them, blocked the trigger pull with his finger, and kneed Roen in the abdomen, followed by a left cross to the chin. In other words, he kicked Roen’s ass and did it really fast.

Highly skilled shotokan movements. Fast. Leads with left.
 

“You mean that punch to my face was his weak hand?”

Afraid so.
 

“Crap. I am in so much trouble.”

That would be the logical conclusion.
 

The kid was nearly as fast as Lin, though Roen could tell his speed was more a function of youth and talent than technique. Not that it made a difference to the end result. Roen ate two more punches to the face, and a kick to the ribs knocked the wind out of him. He collapsed on the ground.

“You beat grandfather?” Jacob snarled. “I don’t believe it.”

“He didn’t believe it either when I killed him,” Roen shot back.

That earned him another whack to the face. However, this time, Roen was ready for it. Like many younger fighters, Jacob was easy to goad and liked to headhunt. Roen caught the punch, wrapped both legs around Jacob’s torso, and scissored him. Jacob crashed to the ground, giving Roen the chance to give a little payback with his own elbow to the face.

Now get out!
 

Probably a smart decision with Jacob’s men nearby. Roen scrambled to his feet, grabbed his pistol, and darted out the back. Another eruption of gunfire zinged past his head and he felt the heat of a bullet cut through his hair.