Snake Eye (30 page)

Right then, for one split second, Tom-Tom considered pulling his weapon and shooting Chow in the face. But Paco already had a hand on his semi-auto, as did Skinner, and Tom-Tom knew Kwong was too scared to back his play. “Okay,” he said, reluctantly, and surrendered his coat.

Kwong did likewise and Chow threw both garments up onto the top bunk. Then, just as the snakehead was about to order Kwong to fetch a bottle of water, the entire barge shivered. The first shells had been launched and a series of overlapping Chrysanthemums lit up the sky. A new year had begun.

Dexter heard a series of
whumps
, followed by a reedy cheer, as three successive explosions lit the sky. These were followed by the crackle of firecrackers as local citizens got into the act, and a gigantic brocade bomb went off high above. But, rather than the exuberance the people on the surrounding docks clearly felt, the businessman was frustrated. After crossing the Aurora bridge, and making his way to the north shore of Lake Union, Dexter quickly discovered that some streets had been blocked off by the police. In addition to that, hordes of incoming spectators had already claimed what on-street parking there was, forcing latecomers such as himself to leave lower Wallingford, and park their vehicles elsewhere.

The process of finding a place to park then hiking back took more than an hour. That was bad enough, but what proved to be the most frustrating was Dexter’s subsequent inability to cross the half-mile stretch of black water that separated him from the barge. The original plan had been to hire a boat, or, failing that, to “borrow” one, but neither approach had proved feasible. It seemed that the type of people who had boats were not interested in renting them out to strangers on a night when they wanted to venture out themselves. And, what with so many people about, it was hard to steal one.

So, as the fireworks display began, the ex-naval officer had little choice but to turn pirate. Having spotted a likely looking couple, he followed them up to the gate that fronted one of the marinas and offered to help with their coolers. Both had been drinking—and they assumed the neatly dressed man had a boat of his own. A serious error indeed.

Once out on a pier, with rows of sleek cabin cruisers to either side, Dexter helped the couple load their supplies onto a twenty-foot cuddy cabin cruiser. Then, just as the unsuspecting mariners were about to thank the nice man, he produced an ugly looking pistol and demanded the ignition key. The couple were forced to step back onto the dock as the 5.OL MerCruiser noisily came to life. Water boiled around the Bayliner’s stern as the businessman backed the boat out of its slip. “I’m sorry!” he shouted, as he cranked the wheel to starboard. “It’s an emergency!”

The downcast couple weren’t able to take much comfort from the statement and were already fumbling for a cell phone as the cabin cruiser nosed out into the lake’s dark waters. The ex-SEAL knew they would call 911—but what the hell? Having already taken it upon himself to interfere with a federal investigation, why not add armed robbery to the list?
Because they’ll send you away for a long time
, the more logical part of his mind replied,
especially if you board that barge and discover Rossi isn’t there
.

But it was too late to be sensible. What was done was done. The ex-naval officer had a deck under his feet and gloried in the way the cold air pressed against his face. As the Bayliner continued to pick up speed Dexter heard a series of loud
crumps
. A glorious red poinsettia blossomed over his head and the ex-SEAL was reminded of nights when illumination rounds burst high in the sky and incandescent flares drifted slowly to the ground.

But there was no more time for reflection as the boat neared the barge. A restricted zone had been established around it, but the Harbor Patrol was busy dealing with a ski boat full of drunk teenagers when the Bayliner entered the area. Dexter cut power by seventy-five percent. The runabout slowed dramatically and pitched forward and back as its own wake caught up with it. It rumbled throatily as it slid along next to the barge’s slab-sided hull. Being only lightly loaded, the boxy cargo vessel sat high in the water, and that made it necessary to find a ladder in order to get aboard. The businessman saw metal gleam up ahead, knew he was moving too fast, and
shifted the engine into reverse. The cabin cruiser slowed, then came to a full stop, as it nosed its way in between an aluminum boat with the words “Fire Department” emblazoned on its side and a rubber raft.

Dexter killed the engine, winced as the bow nudged the barge, and went forward. Then, having made the bow line fast to the ladder, the ex-SEAL climbed upwards. It was the right leg, or what he thought of as his “good” leg, that provided most of the power, a habit Dexter was trying to break.

The show was well underway by that time, which meant that the air stank of sulfur and the atmosphere was filled with the sounds of mock battle. Each time a mortar fired there was a loud
boom!
. That was followed by a high-pitched reverberation and an explosion up in the sky. Except that it wasn’t just one mortar going off, but dozens, which created a multilayered
boom-scream-boom
sound. When combined with the persistent rattle of fireworks, it was like a bad night in Baghdad.

As Dexter continued to climb he could see a faint ring of smoke and a trail of sparks as each round climbed up into the night sky. Then, as the most recent shells exploded, a magnificent golden dahlia appeared. That was followed by a red palm and a silver peony. But beautiful though the display was the businessman knew he had to ignore the fireworks and focus on his mission. Assuming he was correct, and the snakeheads were using the barge as a hideout, they weren’t likely to welcome uninvited guests. So the ex-SEAL was hyper-alert as he swung a leg in over the rail.

The control booth was about fifteen feet away. None of the goggled men huddled around the laptop computer resembled Chow or the bodyguards that Dexter had seen at the apartment house. In fact, judging from the uniform one of them had on, he worked for the Seattle Fire Department, a fact that served to dampen the ex-naval officer’s spirits since it seemed to suggest that none of the snakeheads were present. A technician spotted Dexter and came over to speak with him. “I’m looking for Joe Chow!” the ex-naval officer shouted, as the man in the overalls removed his protective earmuffs. “I have a message for him.”

It seemed like a silly thing to say in a way, but having been unable to come up with anything better, it would have to do. Much to the businessman’s surprise the pyrotech nodded and pointed towards the stern. “He back there!”

Dexter said, “Thanks!” and felt a rising sense of excitement as he turned away. His guess had been correct—and knowing that made him feel good. The next part wouldn’t be so easy, he knew, but he was determined to keep moving. Could the techs communicate with Chow via walkie-talkie? He couldn’t be sure so speed was of the essence. Fountains of fire rose on both sides of him as Dexter stepped onto the central walkway and headed for the stern. They roared and hissed as they shot thirty feet up into the air. The ex-SEAL coughed as a thick layer of smoke spread out to half-conceal the deck. If he had been able to, the ex-naval officer would have sought cover rather than allow himself to be channeled into what might be an ambush. But the continuous mortar fire made that impossible. Thankfully, from Dexter’s perspective at least, visibility had dropped to near zero. So, in spite of the fact that Chow might be aware that
someone
was on the way, the snakehead had no way of knowing who the visitor was.

Meanwhile, not thirty feet ahead, Chow stood on the plywood platform that fronted the stern-cabin and stared into the swirling smoke. One of the pyrotechs had contacted him via handheld radio, but the man spoke Cantonese rather than Mandarin, and the noise generated by the fireworks made it difficult to hear. Still, assuming that he understood correctly, someone was on the way to see him. A single visitor didn’t sound very threatening, so the snakehead wasn’t
especially alarmed when the figure of a man materialized out of the fire and smoke. Then, as the apparition drew close enough to recognize, Chow could hardly believe his eyes. Incredibly, the man in front of him was none other than his ex-landlord!

Paco, Skinner, Tom-Tom, and Kwong were all equally surprised, and stood in a rough semicircle as Dexter stopped about fifteen feet away. Chow spoke first. “What the hell are
you
doing here?”

The ex-SEAL felt his stomach muscles tighten. His hands hung at his sides. Each held a pistol. The weight was reassuring. There was a momentary pause between mortar rounds and his voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “You left without paying your rent.”

“Look boss!” Paco said shrilly. “The bastard has heat!”

“He’s here for the woman,” Chow said. “Kill him.”

No one had seen fit to close the cabin door, and that was a mistake, because although Rossi was in pain, the FBI agent wasn’t as helpless as she appeared to be. By the time Dexter emerged from the smoke she was peering through the door. A strobe shell went off and a quick succession of explosions lit up the ex-SEAL’s face. The sight was so amazing, so completely unexpected, that it took Rossi’s breath away. Somehow, impossible though it seemed, Dexter had come for her!

But there were
five
snakeheads, all heavily armed, and the crazy bastard was just standing there waiting for one of them to make a move. Then Paco shouted his warning. The spell was broken, and everything went into motion. As Paco struggled to free the Beretta from the waistband of his pants, Dexter brought the .45 up and squeezed the trigger. The Colt bucked. Paco was thrown backwards and there was a muted
thump
as he hit the cabin before sliding to the deck.

Confident that one opponent was down for good Dexter swung the P7 left, and was in the process of bringing the pistol to bear on Tom-Tom when Rossi side-kicked the snakehead from behind. Tom-Tom stumbled, felt himself start to fall, and threw out his hands. It didn’t do much good as the snakehead landed face-down on a cluster of ten-inch mortars. His body was literally torn apart as they went off in sequence. The headphones that the gang banger habitually wore flew high into the sky, fell back onto the barge, and punctured the tinfoil covering a twelve-inch round.

Meanwhile, even as Tom-Tom died, Chow fired his Browning. But having seen Paco go down, the snakehead was too scared to take the time necessary to aim. A fountain of brass squirted through the air as he unloaded the semi-auto’s thirteen-round magazine in Dexter’s general direction. But, as luck would have it, only one of the .9mm slugs made contact with its target.

The ex-SEAL staggered as the bullet smashed into the lower part of his prosthesis but managed to remain upright nonetheless. Though not especially logical the attack on his artificial limb struck the ex-naval officer as especially offensive. “Wrong leg, you bastard!” Dexter shouted angrily. “Now, let’s see how
you
like it!”

Chow pulled the trigger once more and was rewarded with a
click
, as his opponent’s Heckler & Koch went off and twin sledgehammer blows struck his knees. That was followed by an explosion of pain more intense than anything the snakehead had ever experienced before. As if to illustrate how it felt a red, gold, and white Crossette exploded directly overhead. It seemed to wheel as he fell.

Having knee-capped Chow, Dexter was about to turn his attention to the surviving gang members when Rossi blew Skinner’s brains out. The FBI agent didn’t like wheel guns, especially
big iron like Tom-Tom’s .44, since they were heavy and the recoil was hellacious. But there was no denying how effective the humongous revolvers could be and she was happy to have it.

Once Skinner went down that left Kwong. He was backing away and giving serious consideration to a timely surrender when Dexter shot him once in the head and once in the chest, the traditional double-tap that makes body armor irrelevant. The little man staggered and fell.

All of the threats were down. Dexter looked at Rossi, saw what he had always hoped for in her eyes, and felt a sudden sense of warmth. Here, within his grasp, was everything he desired. Then Chow pulled the trigger on the FBI agent’s Glock. A .9mm bullet sped through the air and smashed into the ex-SEAL’s chest. He went down hard.

Rossi shouted, “No!” and Missy watched from the doorway as her mother emptied the big revolver into Joe Chow’s head and torso. The first shot shattered his skull. The second blew a fist-sized hole through his chest and the third took his balls off.

Stars wheeled and constellations were born as Dexter stared up into the night sky. Then a much-abused face appeared to hover above him as Rossi knelt to hold the ex-SEAL in her arms. There was a lot of blood, more than she could possibly stop, and both of them knew his life was leaking away. Tears fell and Dexter blinked as one of them landed on his eyelid. “Oh, Dex,” the agent said softly, “what have you done?”

Dexter coughed and blood trickled down his chin. “I’m sorry, Christina. I’m sorry about everything.”

“And so am I,” Rossi answered tenderly.

Dexter smiled. “You want to know something funny?”

The FBI agent bit her lower lip. “Yes, I do.”

“The leg? The one they blew off? It hurts like hell.”

As the fireworks display entered the final stage, there was a loud
BOOM
, followed by a series of overlapping explosions as violet, blue, and pink rings strobed across the huge black canvas. The star shells lit up the entire city, but when Rossi looked down at Dexter, the light in his eyes was gone.

The FBI agent wanted to stay there and cry until she ran out of tears, but there was Missy to consider. Slowly, tenderly, Rossi lay the ex-SEAL down on the blood-stained deck. Then, having appropriated Dexter’s P7, the FBI agent went back to retrieve Missy and her Glock. With pistols at the ready, Rossi led her daughter down the central aisle towards the bow.

Both the Chinese pyrotechs and the fire marshal had evacuated the barge soon after the firefight began, but Tian Lei was still at his post, eyes agleam as his creation approached its final climax. He bowed as Rossi and Missy passed and was still staring upwards when the FBI agent boarded the stolen cabin cruiser, saw that the key was in the ignition, and brought the big MerCruiser engine to life. Missy managed to cast off in spite of her arm. She made her way back to the cockpit and stood by her mother’s side as Rossi took the power boat out into the lake.

In spite of the millions of eyes that were focused on the scene, none of them saw the single spark that fell past Tom-Tom’s blood-spattered earphones and into the mouth of the unfired mortar. When the bomb went off, and detonated the shells all around it, the onlookers assumed the explosion was part of the show—until the barge flew apart in front of their eyes, a powerful ring-shaped shock wave rocked the surrounding boats, and a resonant
BOOM
, rattled windows all around the lake.