OUTCAST Ops: Red Ice

CHAPTER ONE

DEA Special Agent Sarah Vessler looked at her watch one more time, then stared through the night vision glasses at the Pier 80 gate. “Where the hell are you bastards?” she muttered. She was blonde and athletic, but the grind of several years of sixty-hour weeks and no time off had worn away at her natural beauty.

Daniel Choi sighed and leaned back in the driver’s seat. “Patience, Grasshopper,” he said, mimicking a stereotypical martial arts master. Looking more like a living Buddha than a DEA agent, he was the ice to Vessler’s fire.

Vessler rolled her eyes at Danny. “Shut up.”

“Seriously, Sarah, why the rush?” Choi asked. He was a stocky Korean-American, a couple of years older than his partner. “Billy Hung and his boys will either show up, or they won’t.”

“Maybe Vess has a hot date,” fellow agent Gary Daniels said from the back seat.

“Don’t make me shoot you, Gary,” Vessler growled.

“It’s that team from D.C., isn’t it?” Choi asked. “The ones we’re supposed to wait for?”

“I don’t have time for some D.C. suits who don’t know their head from a hole in the ground telling me what you and I already know!”

“What about Casey?”

Vessler turned her head and glared at her partner. “We need him even less than we need the suits!”

“He’s the Special Assistant to the President.”

“A Special Assistant. He’s one of a dozen. Just because he used to run the FBI doesn’t mean he knows anything about the DEA. This is our case, we don’t need D.C. suits sticking their fingers in and messing it up!”

“If the Black Dao boys don’t show, there won’t be a case to mess up.”

Vessler went back to looking through the night-vision glasses. “Hong will be here.”

“Alec W isn’t the best confidential informant out there.”

Vessler shrugged. “He wouldn’t lie to me. He knows what would happen if he did.”

The black Chevy 2500 Suburban was one of three sitting in an empty lot a hundred yards from the main gate of Pier 80, the only place in the Port of San Francisco where general non-container cargo could be unloaded from ships. There was only one cargo ship currently berthed at the pier, a Chinese vessel named The Seven Lucky Dragons. The ship had arrived three hours ago and was currently unloading a cargo of power transformers.

At this time of night, this mostly business area of San Francisco was quiet. The sky was overcast and the air was cool, a common occurrence in the coastal city. There was no fog, which made the surveillance of the pier gates easier.

“Hey, kid,” Daniels said to the fourth person in the Suburban. “You scared?”

“Knock it off, Gary,” Vessler barked, still peering through the night-vision glasses. “Jimmy, you okay?”

Jimmy Pelton was the youngest agent in the SUV, and the least experienced. “I’m fine,” he replied, shifting inside his armored vest.

“First raid?” Daniels asked.

“One this big,” Pelton replied.

“Don’t worry,” Daniels said. “More likely than not the Black Dao boys will put their hands up as soon as we show up, or run for it. I really hope they won’t run. I hate chases.”

“I’ve got movement,” Vessler said. She picked up her radio. “Striker to all Golden Carp agents. Stand by. Two SUVs and a cargo truck, heading for the gate.”

“I still think it’s a stupid name for an operation,” Gary muttered.

“No one’s asking your opinion,” Vessler said.

The three vehicles approaching the gate were a Ford Explorer, a Cadillac Escalade, and a 20-foot box truck. The two dark-colored SUVs were newer models, while the cargo truck was dirty white and stood out like a sore thumb along with the other two. The convoy stopped at the gate and several Asian men in business suits climbed out of the SUVs.

Vessler grinned as she saw one of the men, a stout individual with slicked-back hair and a moon face, surrounded by three bodyguards. “Bingo!”

“Definitely Hong,” Choi said. He was staring through his own night vision glasses at the scene in front of them. “Looks like there are maybe a dozen Triad hitters, armed with pistols and a few submachine guns.”

“Good. We can add weapon charges to the indictment,” Vessler pointed out.

“We need to catch them in the act of accepting a drug shipment first.”

Two of the Triad gunmen walked over to the small guard shack while Hung and his bodyguards stayed next to the Escalade. After a brief discussion with the guard, both men walked back to Hung and had a brief conversation before they climbed back into their vehicles. With the Explorer leading the way, the three-car procession drove through the gates and out of sight.

Vessler lowered the night vision glasses. “Striker to all Golden Carp units. Bears are at the picnic. Check in.”

“Paparazzi here. Ready to get plenty of glamour shots.”

Paparazzi — DEA Special Agent Neal Lear and his partner, Gloria DuVey — were on the second floor of a two-story office building next to the gate. They would take pictures of the expected drug transaction before Vessler’s team moved in to arrest Billy Hung and the other Black Dao Triad members. With the broad flat expanse of the pier, there was no place closer where the DEA agents could hide and still observe the transaction.

“Hunter to Striker. We have overwatch.”

On a warehouse roof not too far from Vessler, Hunter — San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) Sergeant Chad Dembski and his spotter, Sergeant Hector Godin — had a clear view of the pier. Dembski was behind a 7.62×51mm Remington Model 700 bolt-action sniper rifle. If there was trouble, it would be up to the snipers to warn, track and neutralize any threat to the arresting force.

“Calvary’s ready to go.”

Nearby, Calvary — SFPD Lieutenant Rhonda James and her Narcotics unit — was ready to move in through the other entrance onto Pier 80. This was a joint DEA/SFPD task force, operating under the codename GOLDEN CARP, with one goal: eliminate the Black Dao Triad’s drug running operation.

Vessler nodded. “Stand by, everyone. We move on Paparazzi’s say-so.”

The next several minutes were filled with tension. Unable to see the pier because of the warehouse between it and her team, Vessler drummed her fingers on her door’s armrest. In the back she could hear Pelton and Daniels check their DEA-issued LAR-15 rifles. Choi, on the other hand, sat quietly, one hand on the wheel.

“Paparazzi to Striker. Bears have the picnic baskets. Repeat, bears have the picnic baskets.”

“Getting the pictures?”

“Copy. Beautiful ones.”

“Right. Striker to team. Operation is a go!”

“Phoenix to Dragon Six. The eagles are inbound.”

Major Rhee Kyu-chul of the Korean People’s Army Ground Force nodded. He stood in the shadow of one of the cargo crates containing power transformers. He had been on the dock for several hours now, him and his men staying in the shadows of the crates being unloaded.

The Seven Lucky Dragons was one of several ships owned by a shell company that was actually a front for the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea’s State Security Department. The DPRK, better known as North Korea, had dozens of front companies to get around the American-lead sanctions, but this mission was a little different.

Rhee and fifteen of his men had met the freighter fifty miles out to sea and boarded the ship as planned. They had hidden in specially constructed crates and waited. They waited while the U.S. Coast Guard boarded the freighter for a contraband check when the Lucky Dragons had passed into American territorial waters. Once the crates had been unloaded, it was easy to stay in their shadows and wait for their allies and enemies.

Rhee was dressed for war in black fatigues and a battle harness with several grenades. He held a Type 56 assault rifle (Chinese version of the Russian AK-47) in one hand while his other gripped a UHF encrypted radio. “Dragon Six to all Dragons. Eagles are inbound. Wait for my command.”

A dozen yards away, Billy Hong was in the open. Head of the Black Dao Triad, he watched the truck loading along with half a dozen bodyguards. The guards were nervous, not liking the idea of sixteen well-armed and trained soldiers within a few yards of their boss, allies or not.

That was fine by Rhee. He didn’t want them to be comfortable around him or his men.

He put the radio into a belt holder and pressed a button on a cell-phone, smiling when he saw Hong react to his phone’s alert. The Triad leader took his cell phone out of his pocket and answered it. “Yes?”

“The Americans are coming. Clear the area.”

Hong nodded and broke the connection. He turned to one of his men and said something that Rhee couldn’t hear. The man nodded and started shouting in Chinese. The Triad men nodded and began heading for their vehicles.

Rhee smiled. Five years of planning were beginning to blossom into action that would cripple the Americans. “Dragon Leader to all Dragons. Unleash your righteous fury.”

The clicks of the camera were the only sound in the office. Both Neal Lear and Gloria DuVey were hunched over the lens, taking as many shots as they could. The camera featured sophisticated, digitally-controlled optics, recording high resolution images of every movement of the drug deal.

Suddenly the Triad members ran for their vehicles. “Crap!” Lear said. “Glory, call Vess and let her know the bears are heading for the hills.”

As Gloria reached for the radio, the office door behind them crashed open. She and Lear turned, their hands going for their pistols. But the trio of gunmen in the doorway fired first, killing both DEA agents in a flurry of bullets.

Neither had a chance.

Two of the gunmen moved into the room, their silenced Tokarev pistols pointed at the dead agents, while the third stayed by the door. Both bodies were checked for signs of life, then both assassins collected the dead agents’ cameras and recording equipment. They left the same way they had come in, leaving only the deceased behind.

Chad Dembski and Hector Godin were ready for action. Dembski was behind the Remington Model 700, while Godin was watching the ship through a pair of binoculars. Godin concentrated on the cluster of men near the cargo truck. The Triad gunmen suddenly stopped what they were doing and ran for their vehicles.

Dembski adjusted his position slightly. “Looks like something’s stirred up the horne—”

A 7.92 millimeter round slammed into his head above his left eye and blew the back of his skull out. Godin had only heartbeat to react before a second sniper round struck him in the mouth and shattered his spine.

High on the superstructure of The Seven Lucky Dragons, Seonwoo Hun-Jai smiled as he saw that both shots from his and Sergeant Jee’s Jeogyeok-Bochong silenced sniper rifles had found their targets. “Dragon Three to Dragon Leader. Snipers eliminated.”

The three DEA Suburbans raced through the gate, ignoring the shout from the gate guard. They turned to the right and headed for the ship, across the pier’s flat and open space. They spread out in a line, lights flashing and sirens wailing. Ahead of them, the Seven Lucky Dragons sat on dock. As they came into view, the Triad vehicles were already moving, driving behind the crates.

Vessler frowned. “What the hell?”

“Something’s wrong,” Choi said.

“That your samurai sense tingling?” Daniels called out from the back seat.

“I’m Korean, not Japanese, you jackass,” Choi shot back in a distracted tone.

“Shut up!” Vessler snapped. “Striker to Paparazzi, Striker to Hunter, talk to me. What do you see?” Five seconds passed without any response. “Striker to Calvary. Can you hear me?”

“Hear you loud and clear. I don’t like this. Do we abort?”

Vessler thought for several seconds. Something was wrong, but she didn’t know what. “Striker to all Golden Carp elements. Ab—”

“RPG!” Daniels yelled. “One o’clock, two hundred fifty yards!”

Two men in dark clothing with tubes over their shoulders stepped out into the open from the crate’s shadows. Vessler didn’t know if Daniels was right, but despite his caustic attitude, he was an Iraq veteran and a good agent, not one to see shadows where there weren’t any. “Striker to all Carps! Abort, abort! It’s an ambush! Enemy has RPGs!”

Both ambushers fired the rockets on their shoulders, each one sending a five and a half pound warhead flying at the oncoming cars, covering the distance to the Suburbans in about two seconds. The Suburban to Vessler’s left exploded as the armor-penetrating warhead punched deeply into the vehicle and exploded, ripping the vehicle apart.

“Get out of here!” Vessler screamed. “All Carp units, abort, abort, abort!”

Danny spun the wheel hard to the right, bringing the fifteen hundred pound vehicle into a tight turn. Vessler lowered her window as Choi began making the turn. She stuck her LAR-15 out of it and sent half a magazine of 5.56mm rounds back at the RPG gunners, who looked like they were loading again.

Choi straightened out the wheel and stomped on the accelerator, the 6.2 liter, V-8 engine roaring as the vehicle picked up speed. All the windows on the driver’s side exploded and Pelton yelped as he was struck. Choi, his face bloody from several cuts, yelled, “Machine gunners on the office roof!”

Daniels leaned over a slumped Pelton and fired a full magazine at the office building. “Light machine guns!” he shouted while switching magazines.

“Calvary to Striker, We’re on our way in!”

Vessler’s eyes widened. “Negative, Rhonda! It’s an ambush! Stay out!”

“We just turned onto Marin and — oh shit!”

“What?”

An explosion from the direction of Marin Street sent a jolt of fear down Vessler’s spine. There were a few shouts over the radio, but the only words Vessler could make out were “Ambush!” and “RPG!” A second explosion from the same area followed a few seconds later.

“Striker to Calvary! What’s happening?” Silence answered her. “Son of a bitch!”

“Curse later!” Choi shouted. They were close to the gate. “We have to—”

An RPG round from the office building roof struck the concrete ten yards in front of their vehicle. The warhead shattered the ground, fragments scything through the air with enough force to shred both the Suburban’s front tires and perforate the radiator and several hoses. Almost at once, the SUV’s dashboard lit up with red and yellow warning lights as the vehicle began slowing. More machine gun fire hammered the wounded transport.

“Stop!” Vessler yelled. “We need to get out of this deathtrap now!”

Choi brought the dying Suburban to a stop thirty yards from the gate. The three DEA agents piled out, Daniels dragging the bleeding Pelton with him. Twenty yards away, the other SUV was still moving, but it was clear from the damage it had taken that it wouldn’t last long enough to get past the gate.

Vessler motioned the second Suburban to approach them in the SUV. It took fire from two different machine guns but managed to cover most of the distance before it died, all four tires shredded with steam rising from the ruined engine. The doors open and two agents rolled out, placing the bulk of the vehicle between them and the machine gunners. “We’re screwed, Vess!” one of them shouted. “Hart and Swarez are dead!”

Vessler felt the cold certainty of death come at her and there was nothing she could do about it.

Unseen by the combatants on either side, a drone hovered two hundred feet over the battlefield, watching.