But Nobody Wants To Die Read online

  “Darling poster boys? The U.S. Navy Seals are the nation’s premiere elite combat tested force that more than deserves all the recognition they get.” Carlos said.

  “You’ve been drinking the Kool–Aid haven’t you, you really believe all that propaganda? Care to comment on the fact that each Navy Seal is assigned a photographer and a reporter from Time Magazine on the same day they graduate from BUD/S in San Diego?”

  I thought maybe I had gone too far, the veins in his neck starting to bulge so alarmingly that I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “I’m sorry,” I said, still laughing. “You should have seen your face, all contorted.” I put my hands on his chest. “I’m kidding, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, his color returning to normal, “I just want to clarify one thing though. They’re not from Time Magazine,” shaking his head, “they’re from Newsweek.”

  “Oh that’s okay then,” I said. “You got another one of those wannabe pistols in case I have to save your continually on the cover of Newsweek for no good reason ass?”

  “Just so happens I have a back-up,” he said.

  “Alright, show me how to use it,” I said.

  He released the magazine and checked the chamber, making sure it was clear and handed it to me. Aim at the closet door, he said, coming behind me. His arms sliding alongside mine as I pointed the pistol at the door. You release the safety like this, he said, his body warm against mine and I forgot all about the M11 P 228 and turned to face him, tossing the pistol on the bed.

  “I’ve been wanting to kiss you ever since you broke into my bakery,” he said.

  “I‘ve been thinking the same thing,” I said.

  “Glad we finally agree on something,” he said

  And then there was just his wonderful mouth. And soon we were on the bed next to us, him on top of me, which ordinarily would have been just peachy except for something hard and metallic digging into my back. I quickly connected the dots.

  “The gun,” I managed to say. “I’m lying on the gun.”

  “Oh sorry,” he said. He stood and reached down to pull me up.

  “Looks like that toy gun has already saved you once, you should take back all those disparaging remarks you made about it,” he said.

  “Oh no, those remarks still stand. I was just getting ready to yell for Melinda anyway,” I said.

  It was his turn to laugh. “Yeah, as I recall I was holding you down against your will and you were struggling to get away.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  We almost managed to get all our gear piled by the front door way by the time the guy from Enterprise showed up. It looked like we were going to be gone for a week. I fought back tears as I thought of Dad and his standard, ‘You people are too slow,’ speech. We might be too slow Dad, I thought, but I’m not giving up until I find you.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  JIAN LUNG AND HUANG FU TSANG

  I t turned out that the fairly modern building occupied by PLA 61398 in Shanghai wasn’t an unheated windowless room after all, but it was crowded and smoke filled, which continually annoyed the hell out of Jian. Jian and Huang Fu were both Captains in the Advanced Persistent Threat Unit, and now best friends. They were assigned to this post on the same day, but since Jian graduated from the Xi’an Army Academy in the class just prior to Huang Fu, he was the senior officer.

  “It’s bad enough to have to endure that crap outside,” Jiang said, gesturing toward the layer of brown haze outside the window, “but to have to breathe cigarette smoke all day at work is killing me faster than the long hours and lousy food.”

  “Isn’t it time you found something else to complain about?” Huang Fu said. “The pollution is much worse in Beijing and it’s not like I smoke three packs a day. Even on a bad day, I only smoke half a pack.”

  “Half a pack my ass,” Jian said, “it’s just after lunch and you already started your second pack. How is it fair that because you smoke like a fiend I’ll die before you? When your last functioning lung cells finally turn black and you’re lying on the side of the road gasping for air like a fish out of water, I’ll already have been dead six months.”

  This ongoing argument was interrupted by the appearance of Lieutenant Shen. Shen waived a sheet of paper at them and walked across the threshold without bothering to wait for permission to enter. Ever since Shen was rumored to be sleeping with the General’s daughter, it seemed he began taking liberties that the other junior officers would not dare. Jian and Huang Fu started calling him Rat Face after the proverbial rat that had accidently fallen into the rice bin and happily ate his fill each day unbeknownst to the owner of the rice.

  “Captain Lung,” he said, following protocol by addressing only the senior officer present, “I just discovered that our contact at the Global Casino has changed the routing number for some of the funds. Up until now all of the funds were going to the Bank of China in Beijing.”

  “So where are they going now?” Jian said, doubting very much that Shen had stumbled across this information himself. Most likely the NCO who was assigned to monitor the traffic to and from the Las Vegas Casino had informed Shen of the change and he quickly appropriated it as his own discovery.

  “Part of the funds are going to the Banco Comercial, a Portuguese bank in Macau,” Shen said. Jian glanced at Huang Fu to see if the scowl on his face matched his own. Colonel Yeung was off work, rumored to be home recovering from surgery for a severe case of hemorrhoids, and this news would tighten him up even further. “How much are we talking about?” Jian said.

  “It looks like close to 200,000 Renminbi per day is being diverted to Macau,” Shen said.

  “Very well,” said Jian. “Type up a brief memo for me so I can take it to Colonel Yeung. Have it ready for me before you leave.”

  “Yes sir,” said Shen, who then performed an admirable about face, and left the office.

  Huang Fu waited until Shen’s footsteps could no longer be heard retreating down the hall. He looked at Jian and shook his head. “Once a rat, always a rat,” he said.

  “I could somewhat admire him if the General’s daughter was pretty, or at least not as ugly as the General, but I almost feel sorry for him,” Jian said. “Think of the lies he has to tell.”

  “Think of all the rice he gets to eat,” said Huang Fu.

  “Sometimes,” Jian said, “the cost of rice is so dear, that it is better to go hungry. He fills his stomach while emptying his soul.”

  “And here I thought Lao Tzu was dead,” Huang Fu said, absent mindlessly reaching for another cigarette, “but he is alive and well, enlightening us with his wisdom.”

  “If you light that damn thing,” Jian said, “you will wish you were dead.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  THE STAKE OUT

  I t was almost 1600 hours when we glided to a stop about a mile away from the improbably named Artic Springs warehouse.

  “Alright, let’s put on the hats and sunglasses, and stay low, especially you Melinda,” Carlos said, glancing in the rear view mirror to ensure he had her attention. “Then we drive once around the warehouse, nice and slow and look for a good vantage point to set up surveillance. Any objections?”

  “No, sounds like a good idea,” I said, and Melinda nodded her consent.

  We cruised slowly by the warehouse. The only cars in the parking lot were two late model Cadillac sedans and a big black escalade with heavily tinted windows and chrome rims. All had Nevada plates. We didn’t see anyone entering or leaving the building. It seemed pretty quiet.

  We drove around the backside of the building and circled around, finally parking down the street from the corner of Flossmoor and Arctic Circle. There were a couple of mesquite trees and an electric utility box to give us some cover but not much. It was much closer than to the main entrance of the building than the 300 yards we agreed upon earlier. I looked at Carlos as he turned off the ignition.

  “I know, we’re much closer than I’d like,” he said. “The pro
blem is the way the street curves, if we park any further away we lose the visual on the entrance. We’ll have to be really careful, make sure they don’t spot us.” He pulled out the floor plan he’d printed off the LoopNet website.

  “Here’s what we know,” he said. “Approximately 9,000 square foot warehouse, masonry, non-combustible, fully sprinklered with 1,250 additional square feet of office space which consists of four offices, and two restrooms, all in the southwest corner of the building. Two of the larger offices have windows here and here,” he said, pointing to the schematic, “which provide access to the exterior, which means they wouldn’t keep any hostages there.”

  “But those would most likely be where Alphonso’s men would be, because they allow them to look out those windows and watch for anything suspicious and besides, they just happen to be the largest,” I said.

  “Right,” Carlos said. “My guess is that if they are holding anyone, they would be in this smaller office here, pointing to the printout. It has only one door, no windows and is farthest away from the outside wall.”

  “So what else do we know?” Carlos said.

  “It seemed pretty quiet for a warehouse, you would think there would be more cars,” Melinda said.

  “Exactly, if this was a viable business there would be lots of cars and trucks parked in the lot,” Carlos said.

  “There also would be a lot more activity, some movement,” I said.

  “Yes, which means this warehouse is most likely just what Melinda said it was, Alphonso’s private off-site holding facility,” Carlos said.

  “Those Caddies could very easily belong to Alphonso’s men. And that black Escalade with the chrome rims could be the same one that followed us from Phoenix,” I said. That seemed like so much ancient history, when in fact it was only just over a week ago.

  “Your Dad still has friends at LVPD right?”

  “You bet he does,” I said.

  “Let’s copy down those plate numbers and see if they can match them to Global Entertainment.”

  “Roger that.” I said.

  Stakeouts on TV are exciting. Stakeouts in reality are as exciting as plucking your eyebrows and almost as painful. We passed the time by discussing how these streets got their ridiculous names. Melinda won by saying Flossmoor was named by the Nevada Association of Dental Hygienists. Arctic Circle was another story entirely. The only thing we ever agreed on was that vast quantities of illicit drugs were consumed in the naming process.

  About forty minutes later we were saved from having to continue our discussion by a guy coming out of the office. He walked towards the black Escalade, and reached for the door. Big guy. Sport coat. I hurriedly handed the binoculars to Melinda. “You recognize this guy?” I said. He got in and the Escalade came out of the parking lot, turned left, heading away from us.

  “Looked like Fagamo. I’m not sure, I didn’t have much time,” Melinda said.

  “Who’s Fagamo?” Carlos said.

  “Alphonso’s right hand man. It sure looked like him,” Melinda said.

  Nothing else happened until just before 1800. A dark Oldsmobile sedan and a Chevy Suburban pulled into the parking lot in front of the office. Two guys got out of each car. Looked around, one of them looking right at us. Then they went inside. Using the binoculars, I read the plate numbers off to Carlos and he wrote them down. Maybe ten minutes later, four guys came out. Two guys got in each of the Caddy’s and they left, both of them turning left like the Escalade, driving away from us.

  “Shift change,” Carlos said. “Maybe twelve on, twelve off. Which means that the guys that just left will be back at 0600.”

  About an hour later, just as it was starting to get dark, a truck pulled in, the lettering on the side said Nello’s Pizza.

  A kid got out and went around to the passenger side, pulled out 4 pizza boxes and carried them to the front door.

  The door opened and somebody took the pizza and handed the kid some bills. The kid never stepped inside. He got back in the truck and left.

  “Four pizza’s to feed four guys,” I said. “That’s a lot of pizza.”

  “Unless they’re not feeding four guys, maybe they’re feeding eight?” Carlos said.

  “They’re torturing Dad,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” Melinda said.

  “Dad hates pizza,” I said.

  “Do you really think their torturing them?” Melinda said.

  “No, I don’t think so, they wouldn’t be feeding them pizza if they were. Maybe they’re just holding them for the Chinese, you know, like insurance,” Carlos said. “Besides, why should he torture them? He’ll let the Chinese do it.”

  “Quit trying to cheer me up,” I said.

  “Sorry,” Carlos said, “But don’t worry, we’re going to rescue your Dad before they get that chance.”

  I hope so,” I said, “but maybe Alphonso is leaning on them to see if they crack, just waiting for one of them to tell him where Melinda is. She’s the one he really wants.”

  “They should just go ahead and tell him,” Melinda said, “I’m no longer where they think I am anyway.”

  The sunset was now the last bit of daylight in the rapidly darkening sky. “I’m not comfortable sitting here in the dark,” Carlos said, “it’s too easy for them to pay us a visit. They looked right at us and know that we’re here. Our luck has held so far, I say let’s not push it.”

  “What about the stakeout?” Melinda said.

  “I think we’ve seen everything we need to see. We know they’re there. Now we just have to figure a way to get them out,” he said, turning towards me.

  “I agree,” I said. “Let’s bounce.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  PLAN B

  W hen we got back to Carlos’ apartment, I called Dad’s old friend at LVPD, while Carlos and Melinda returned the rental to Enterprise. I didn’t want to muddy the waters, so I didn’t say anything about Dad being missing. I just told him that Dad asked me to call to ask for a favor while he went to the gym.

  Dad’s friend agreed to run the plates and said he would let me know what he found out. I gave him my cell phone number and we said our goodbyes.

  When Carlos got home he said he needed to make a call of his own. There was an old Navy SEAL buddy he wanted to talk to.

  He went into the bedroom to make the call. When he came out thirty minutes later he said we have a meeting set up for tomorrow morning at 0800.

  “Please don’t tell me it’s at Denny’s,” I said.

  He smiled, “No, Mitch wants to meet at the park, third bench north of the tennis courts,” he said.

  Dinner consisted of the sandwiches we made for our stakeout. Afterwards, we decided to call it a day and went to bed early. Carlos said he would knock on our door at 0630.

  The next morning Melinda decided she wanted to sleep in, so Carlos and I just had some fruit for breakfast and then drove to our meeting place at the park off Lincoln Drive.

  “So what can you tell me about Mitch?” I said.

  “He’s a few years older than me, divorced, no kids. We were together in Afghanistan. After he got out he went to Refrigeration school here in Las Vegas. He now owns his own heating and cooling company. He’s what you would call, resourceful, meaning he has a keen awareness of how the world works and how to get things. In our unit he was known as the, ‘Procurement Officer.’ His specialty was forging documents, which was how most of our unit obtained R&R in Thailand. He has some PTSD issues. Other than that, I’ll let you form your own opinion.”

  Mitch at it turned out, did meet us at the third bench north of the tennis courts. He was a larger version of Carlos, but looked a lot older, gray around the temples, with a scruffy salt and pepper beard and fidgety, high strung, a bomb ready to go off. He wore a yellow t-shirt with, ‘Mitch’s Heating and Cooling,’ embroidered across the front.

  Carlos made the necessary introductions and Mitch just nodded. We sat on the bench and Mitch took another look around. When he w
as satisfied we were alone, he started speaking in what I thought of as a Midwestern drawl on fast forward,

  “I made a few calls after we talked last night. Here’s what I came up with. I’ll run it by you, see what you think. My uncle is a Captain with the Las Vegas Fire Department. He commands station #13 about 8 miles away from the warehouse. He owes me $12,000. This is Las Vegas right? He likes to gamble. His wife said if she caught him gambling again she’d divorce him. He thought he had a sure thing, bet on the Broncos in the Super Bowl. You know how that turned out. I bailed him out. So he owes me a favor. A $12,000 favor.”

  “You gave a compulsive gambler $12,000?” Carlos said.

  “Well, yeah,” Mitch said.

  “What makes you think he’s going to pay you back?” Carlos said.

  “Nothing, except the fact that I have the notarized title to his $30,000 customized corvette.”

  “So, did you get smarter after you got discharged from the Navy? I never thought you were that smart,” Carlos said.

  “Just because I didn’t have my nose in a book every waking moment like you, you thought I was a dumbass?” Mitch said.

  “Well, that and the fact that you got drunk, ‘borrowed’ the Captain’s motorcycle and drove it off the end of the pier into forty feet of saltwater,” Carlos said.

  “Oh that, turns out the Captain was convinced the motorcycle was a lemon and was tired of throwing money at it. He wanted to collect the insurance and get a better bike. He even ‘accidentally’ left the key in it for me,” Mitch said.

  “Is that why you didn’t wind up in the brig?” Carlos said.

  “Could be,” Mitch said.

  “We all decided it was only because they thought you were retarded,” Carlos said.

  “I did hear that rumor once or twice,” Mitch said.

  “Okay, so now that I know you’re not a complete idiot, tell me more about Plan B,” Carlos said.