Code of Honor

40

Ding’s tracker was still active at Suparman Games headquarters when John Clark parked a block away, in the back lot of a car dealership along Sam Ratulangi Road. The rented Toyota van blended in better on the lot than it would have on the side of the relatively sleepy divided four-lane. Making his approach from any closer meant that he might be up on exterior cameras. Any farther away and he risked exposure to passersby or people simply trying to cool off on their porches. As far as he’d been able to see, there was no distinct line between residential and business districts. A dirt-floor hovel might occupy the lot next to a high-end grocery, or the owners of a mansion might look out the window to the roof of a convenience store.

Suparman was wise indeed if he’d been thinking in terms of a neighborhood watch when he planned where to put his headquarters. The street had plenty of private residences to sound the alarm if anything or anyone looked out of the ordinary.

Clark kept out of sight on the west side of the road, opposite Suparman’s, cutting through a wooded lot that ran behind a row of ramshackle shops that made up a sort of Third World — looking strip mall. It was dark, and he was able to use the shadows of a large guava tree directly across from the gaming company offices as cover.

A waist-high concrete block wall, whitewashed to match the Suparman building, ran the length of the property in front, ending in a sliding metal gate at the north end. Behind the gate, piles of gravel and concrete block marked an area of new construction to an open carport below what would be more offices. The face of the primarily glass building with bright white eaves and roof stood out in stark contrast to the surrounding greenery. This wall of windows made it easy for Clark to see the guards in the lobby, but would also leave him visible on approach.

The plans Gavin found online had not been labeled, but it was a safe bet that Suparman’s office would be on the second floor in the southeast corner. Indonesia was a veritable sauna, making showering multiple times a day a national pastime. There were three washrooms in the building, but the architect’s drawing of the one that adjoined the office in the southeast corner was plumbed for an American-style toilet, bidet, and a palatial shower. The reinforced walls indicated that the vault was in that office as well.

Clark had still not been able to figure out how Suparman’s men had gotten to Ding. He must have done something to make them suspicious at the storefront. If it had been local police, or drug dealers, or even spur-of-the-moment kidnappers looking to make a quick buck ransoming a rich American, Clark could have gotten his head wrapped around it. But Suparman? He couldn’t have known what they were up to. Ackerman was dead. Noonan was presumed dead — though this was not certain. There could be a link here… Clark shook off that idea. Noonan wouldn’t know Ding Chavez from Adam. Chinese intelligence was supposedly involved, but he doubted they knew the gaming company had a copy of Calliope — not yet, anyway.

That left Ding’s visit to the storefront… It made no sense at all, and yet here they were.

Clark’s orders were to grab the tech at all costs. He hated that term. “At all costs” sounded great when you were a young punk operative — a license to kill, real 007 shit. The rules of engagement were relaxed to the point of being nearly nonexistent. But in reality, “at all costs” meant “at the cost of everything,” even your team members. Make it happen or die in the attempt. There had been a time when Clark was gung ho enough to do just that, but he wasn’t going there now. They’d all die together or they’d all come home.

Jack Junior came over the radio — Midas had rekeyed the encryption when they’d linked up at the Blessing Jesus statue, so Ding’s radio was now unable to listen in.

“I’ve got a light in the back corner office,” Ryan said. “North end, bottom floor.”

“Copy,” Clark said.

Dom was with Jack, but Adara and Midas responded as well.

Clark took a PVS-14 night-vision monocular to peer at the grounds across the street. No patrols, but he located the exterior cameras over the door and at each corner of the building. The guard in the lobby, maybe thirty years old from the looks of him, was still alone, playing a game on his phone. He talked to someone on his radio every now and again.

Clark looked right and left, up and down the dark street. No lights, no signs of bicycles or pedestrians. He trotted across the street, moving diagonally to reach a small princess palm tree. It was skinny and only about twice his height but provided a vertical object for him to stand beside. As long as he was still, a casual glance out the window might not draw attention. Maybe. In any case, he didn’t intend to be there long.

“Three males visible in the northeast office,” Jack said. “I can’t see Ding, but I don’t have a very good view. They’re talking to someone in the back corner.”

“Weapons?” Clark asked.

“At least one has a pistol shoved down his waistband. Another has a length of what looks like steel cable.”

“My guy’s talking on the radio,” Clark said. “Are they?”

“Affirm,” Ryan said. “The guy with the gun is carrying on a conversation with someone.” Ryan paused, then came back more agitated. “Looks like he’s getting ready to use that cable on somebody out of our view. We need to go in soon.”

“Hold there!” Clark said. “We’ll all go in at once. Adara, Midas?”

“We’re at the southwest corner,” Adara said. “Ready to take out the camera on your mark.”

“Copy,” Clark said. “Stand by.”

Everyone carried a Heckler & Koch MP5 now, along with their sidearms and two extra mags per weapon. Not ideal for an armed assault, but it was what they had. Clark doubted the guards inside had half that, but he made it a point never to underestimate a situation. Each firearm was outfitted with a Gemtech suppressor. As a rule, Clark didn’t care for the subsonic ammo needed to remove the easily identifiable snap from each shot, but they would be operating in close quarters, so the reduced ballistics wouldn’t be too much of a factor. Adara carried a Ruger Mark IV .22 with an integral suppressor that was exponentially quieter than the nines, even with their subsonic rounds. She was deadly accurate with the setup out to fifty yards, farther if the need arose. Clark had used slingshots that were louder. Her job was to take out the cameras in front of the building, then follow Clark in once he breached the front door. Dom had an identical weapon for any cameras — or sentries in back. Once inside, both would revert to the SMGs. The suppressed .22 was so quiet that people shot with it sometimes didn’t realize they were dead, and kept up return fire longer than they would have had they been hit with something a little louder. In addition to the digital images of Suparman’s retina, Midas carried the Halligan and other breaching equipment. Ryan and Clark completed their loadouts with three percussion grenades each.

They were going to get Ding back.

“In position,” Clark said, pulling a black balaclava over his head. Apart from concealing his identity to cameras, any kind of mask provided a little extra psychological gut punch to the opposing force. “Our primary goal is to get the tech. I’ll provide you overwatch. Everyone knows their area of responsibility. ROE remain the same: Kill everyone who isn’t Ding.”

Ding Chavez turned his head, spitting a mouthful of blood on the floor. His hands and ankles were tied to the back of a heavy wooden chair. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

“You guys are in a shitload of trouble.”

The stubby man who’d been hitting him nonstop for the past three minutes must have had some boxing experience. Chavez felt like he was getting kicked by a very angry mule. He’d knocked the chair over three times, to the delight of the other three men in the room. The lateral movement had allowed Chavez to give with the force of the blows and taken out a good deal of the sting, but he pretended it hurt even worse. Thankfully, the boxer must not have been doing his cardio and got winded from the effort, giving Chavez a short break.

His neck was still on fire from the initial stomp in the van and his right eye was swollen shut. Mercifully, his teeth — usually the first thing to go in this kind of beating — were still intact for now.

The apparent leader, a guy in a sweat-soaked gray mechanic’s shirt, stood by, smacking a length of twisted steel cable against an open palm. Chavez suppressed a shudder. He’d seen bodies that had been beaten with rods and cable. Human anatomy didn’t stand up to that sort of treatment for long. Bones shattered, soft tissue burst. It wasn’t a pretty picture.

The man with the cable yanked Chavez’s head up by his forelock. “You are American?”

Chavez gave a feeble nod. “Yep.” It was the first question they’d asked. No point in lying about it.

“What do you want with Mr. Suparman?”

“I… Who?”

The boxer hit him again, bringing a round of chuckles from the two bystanders against the wall.

Chavez needed to come up with a story before this guy got serious and broke his jaw.

“I am trying to warn you,” he said. “You really need to stop. My people… they are more dangerous than you know.”

“And what people are they?” Cable Guy asked.

“Whatever it is you think you know,” Chavez said, “you’re wrong.”

“Is that so?” the man with the cable said. “You think to target the most technologically advanced company in Indonesia for attack and then expect to slip by unnoticed? Your American audacity is laughable.” He prodded Chavez in the chin with the jagged end of the cable, tilting his head up again. “Mr. Suparman receives threats from all over the world. Extortion, kidnapping, industrial theft. We have facial-recognition software in many areas around the store, always looking for people who loiter for too long.” He smiled. “So, you see, I already know you were watching the store from the hotel across the street. Would you like to tell me why or shall we advance to the next level?” He swung the cable over his head, making it whir menacingly through the air. “I don’t know if you are aware, but this length of steel is capable of removing a person’s head. I have seen it personally.”

“I’ll bet,” Chavez said. “You run Suparman’s security?”

“I do,” the man said. “My name is Sebastian. Though I must admit, my name will be of no consequence to you unless you tell me why you are here.”

Chavez groaned, head lolling, hoping he looked completely subdued. “My people will call the police if I am not back within the hour.”

“Please,” Sebastian scoffed. “The police are quite — how shall I put this? — friendly to Mr. Suparman. I would not depend on them.” He prodded Chavez’s chin again with the cable, harder this time, drawing blood with the raw wires. “It will go much better for you if you tell me who you are working for.”

Chavez just sat there, panting, waiting, hoping the transmitter in his belt was still working.

“Nothing?” Sebastian sighed. “Very well. Then there is no point in being gentle any longer.” He gave the boxer a nod. The two along the wall began to giggle again.

Bracing himself for another blow, Chavez heard a faint pop outside the window, then the rattle of breaking glass in the hallway.

An instant later, a fist-size metal canister clattered into the office through the open door. Chavez opened his mouth and closed his eyes, recognizing it immediately for what it was.

Sebastian and his men… did not.