Ebb Tide Ch. 04b

"Wǒ ... Wǒ huì shāle nǐ de suǒyǒu," she slurred before she slumped over against the door then crashed to the ground. That wasn't promising. I approached from an oblique angle. The door was mangled. I'd planned for that. First I had the ladies exit to the bedroom before I popped the pins on the screen door, moved it aside and performed a preliminary exam on Ms. Xi.

I pocketed her weapons – the pistol, two spare magazines and a ceramic, hilt-less 6" blade. After that, I picked her up and brought her inside – to the bedroom – kicking the door shut as I did.

"Dabney, secure the deadbolt," I began issuing orders. "G, go to the frig and get me a vial marked 'A' and the medical kit on top. Sara, get my ties. We are going to secure our guest to the bed."

"That would be wise," she agreed. I spared her a glance. "She said 'I will kill you all'. I speak Mandarin."

"Good to know. Get to work."

Once the first round of chores were completed and I'd figured out she'd been shot twice – both two 'through-and-throughs' on the left side – one had been deflected off a rib (definitely fractured/possibly with fragments) and the other had passed between her kidney and urethra. How it missed her superior mesenteric artery – I didn't know. Had it been cut, she'd have been long dead by now. Same went for her spleen, kidney, liver or stomach. That still left a mess made of the small intestines to clean up.

From the abrasions on her hands, right cheek and tears to her clothing, she'd been in a fight alright. I figured she'd taken the gun of the guy who shot her too. I'd get to ask her about it soon as well. Despite her condition, I had to give her a shot of adrenaline to revive her because I didn't know her blood type. And I'd need blood because I was going to have to poke around inside her to see if I could, in fact, save her. Dropping her off at a hospital was an effective death sentence.

I gave her the shot, then waited. I sent Dabney and G from the room. I'd need Sara in case Baozhai was only semi-coherent, thus only talking in her native language.

"Hey," I lightly slapped her face. Her eyes fluttered a few time, then opened. It took her a few more seconds to focus on me. Then came the hate.

"What?" she tugged on her restraints.

"You've been badly shot and lost a great deal of blood, Ms. Xi," I explained. "I need to poke around inside you to see how badly your various internal organs are damaged. To do that and not kill you, I need to know your blood type."

She stared ... and stared ... and stared.

"Why?"

"I don't really know. Quite frankly, we both know I should let you bleed out and bury you in the desert. I might let your government know where I buried you so they can confirm you are really dead and they can call off their own manhunt ..."

Yeah, there was that personality shift ~ the loyal soldier/sailor beseeching her People for justice only to be met with murder ~ the sense of betrayal; a lifetime's devotion rendered devoid of meaning. Even after she let them know she didn't even want their help ~ she was perfectly willing to carry on alone, her side had tried to make her 'dead' instead.

"Why don't you? If I get better, I will avenge my Brother," she simmered.

"Don't care. What is your blood type?"

"But why?"

"I told you ~ I can't explain my actions. Now, I'm on a time table. Someone expects me to be somewhere in ... about two hours and I can't disappoint them. By all means, make my life easier and don't answer my question."

"Who are you?" she looked to Sara.

"I'm just a tourist!" Sara babbled nervously. "I mean ... I'm not part ... I mean, I don't live here!"

"She is a civilian?" the Chinese killer sent my way.

"Yes. She also speaks Mandarin Chinese, which I thought might be useful if you were only semi-lucid," I clued Ms. Xi in. "She's brave and reliable, within the scope of her abilities."

"I speak some Cantonese too," Sara added needlessly.

Why do people feel the desire to provide unsolicited information? I actually know the answer. They feel if they are found useful, they won't be hurt/killed. You would think their 'side' having the upper hand would encourage some restraint, but it doesn't.

"Who answered the door?"

"Fine then," I had been sitting on the bed. I stood. "Have it your way."

"A Plus." Thank Heavens for yet another woman making my life more difficult.

"I'm A+," Sara smiled at me. That wasn't too unusual. Over 30% of Americans were. I'd need more.

I immediately set those two up for a compatibility test – they were – then prepared to extract a pint from Sara. I also called up Kip Churchill, the Pimp. I needed a return favor – four ladies with A+ blood. How he figured out which ladies had it and how he got the blood to me within the hour was his problem. A human of Baozhai's size would have about 10 pints (4.7 liters) of blood in her system, so having five on hand should have been enough.

Calling Detective Lieutenant Trixie Crowe (TC) was next on my list. Ms. Xi would need a babysitter while the rest of us were out. As I set to work, I had G and Dabney get Xi's car and drive it around to one of my nearby properties and cover it up. Undoubtedly the Chinese would come looking for her and their best point of contact was still me.

To take care of that difficulty, I called in another favor. I called Ramone Garza, leader of the local chapter of the Florencia 13 'Sureños'.

"Who is this?" he said in way of a 'hello'. He probably wondered who had his private number and had no caller ID.

"The paramedic who patched up your lady. How is she doing?"

"Not so good. They are holding her downtown on immigration charges. ICE is shipping her to Arizona on Monday." His pause was telling. "A guy called me and said if you called, I should call him because if I didn't and I helped you, something bad would happen to Corazon."

"He wasn't lying to you. He's got the juice to do it," I responded. I'd only met him once, but Ramone had come across as a level-headed guy who appreciated straight talk.

"I got the same feeling. What do you want?"

Time to alter my plan a bit.

"Maybe we can help one another. I want you to send two guys to get a car, drive it someplace way out of town and leave it. I'll give you a gun, wallet and a flash drive plus a number to call when your boys are safely away. You tell these people you know where they can find those items."

"Tell them 'the woman's body was handled by some people from the East Coast', – no further details. Then, make your request. After you've done that, give then 15 seconds to acknowledge the call then hang up. Do not stay on the line no matter what. Clear?"

"Clear. Who am I dealing with?" he sanely inquired.

"The People's Republic of China's consulate in San Francisco. A Chinese national came to town to kill me over shit I did I'll never talk about. They told her to go home. She disagreed, so they tried to kill her. She got shot up, but still made it here to my door step. They are going to be looking for her and I'm sure her car has GPS, so they will be showing up soon."

"Is she dead?"

"It is best if you think she is."

"And she came to town to kill you? Dude ... you have a fucked up life. I'll take care of it ~ personally. Me and my brother because I'm sure he won't tell a soul," Ramone promised. "I'm on my way."

"Ramone, when you call that number, tell them this is your price – "I want you to launch an official inquiry into the status of Corazon ~ her full name, Inmate ID and Case Number. Make this one Human Rights Inquiry and we are done. Do this and you promise they will never hear from you again."

"From the People's Republic of China? Oh, Corazon's full name is Corazon Bedoya Ibáñez."

"I know. Her ID is 01945793 and her Case No. is 12FN0283X. (All of that information was accessible online by anybody) That will send up all kinds of Red Flags with Homeland Security and the CIA which will make her safer and allow some of my friends to influence the system. My difficulty is I have friends in low places, so any favor I ask for will take time. The Chinese making the notification will give us that time," I informed him.

"That guy who was snooping around?"

"He is going to be a problem. I'm working on it, but it is going to take time on my part before I can report any progress. Sorry."

"I gotchya. Fuck-ass cop-bait," he chuckled. "Don't worry. I got this ... 404."

"404?"

"Yeah. It is Cop-Code for ..." Ramone chuckled.

"I know what it means," I grunted. To the LVMPD, it meant Unknown Trouble. "Let's stay on target."

"Ha!" he laughed. "We'll see if this nickname sticks. Watch your back."

"Right ..." I then finished up by telling him where to pick up the car, then hung up.

Back with Xi Baozhai, I told her we needed to stage some brief footage of her looking very dead.

"Why?" she muttered.

"Your people are coming to finish you off and I'm trying to convince them you are already dead."

"I should be dead," she remarked bitterly then, "What do I do?"

Having been down this road before, I knew the hardest part is the eye drops, because to make a convincing 'death video', the victim has to have their eyes open and not blink for at least 45 seconds. A minute is better. Proper eye drops help with that.

Baozhai handled it like a pro. The Sea Dragons, her old unit, were highly disciplined. It took one take with me approaching the bed then walking around the foot. There was no dialogue, or other sounds to give away our location, or identity. I decided 53 seconds of her lifeless body, head tilted to the side, eyes wide open without a hint of pulse, or breath was good enough. I removed the new chip, placed it in a freezer bag along with her other personal effects and off it went to join the auto. I had to get to the real work after that.

Some higher power, or her ancestors, must have been looking out for Xi Baozhai. There was no damage I hadn't seen before and successfully dealt with. With the five pints of blood, antibiotics and rest, she'd be up and hating me to death in a week ~ easy. She'd be feeling the pain for about a month, but professional warriors of her caliber could work through petty shit like being gut shot.

As I was wrapping up, I got a call from Ramone. G handled it for me. He'd deposited the car and had the brief conversation. He'd refused the invitation to meet, or even exchange names. He'd taken my advice and hung up after giving his lines. In the same vein, my ladies dealt with TC when she arrived. The IAB cop stopped in long enough to see I was indeed saving someone's life, then returned to G and Dabney for the explanation.

It was the bare bones: a Chinese national showed up on my step to kill me. Operatives from the PRC were coming to kill her. She wanted to kill me for shit which happed while I was working for our Government and which neither government would want either of us talking about. If the lady went to a hospital, she would eventually be sent home and murdered, because no one in my house would press charges.

'Why couldn't we watch her?'

~ We all had to go to a function involving Reagan ~ more stuff we really couldn't discuss.

'Who was Sara and why was she going?'

~ Sara know secret electronic spy stuff ... honest.

'Why was she (TC) doing something clearly illegal (not reporting a gunshot victim)?

~ The woman was still in danger and TC was the only one of us who could legally shoot people ... which might come in handy if Ms. Xi woke up and tried to escape.

TC didn't like that last one.

My final call was to 'Betty Gable'.

"You do realize the time differential between the Pacific and East Coast?" she yawned.

"This is a business call."

"Hold on," she muttered. After she made a few adjustments from her end. "Things are secure from my end."

"Not secure enough for this."

"Oh crap," she grunted. "Do I need to get someone in National Resources to tap a reliable somebody in the FBI's CD?"

"This may be an Operation's issue," I countered.

The National Resources Division of the CIA was their domestic unit, a group which normally debriefed corporate types about industrial secrets and cultivated foreign students and diplomats in the US into becoming intelligence sources.

Operations – technically the Directorate of Operations – was my old umbrella organization at Langley. They handled SOG (Special Operations Group) personnel among other things. including counter-intelligence. FBI's Counter Intelligence Division ... well to be fair, I'd never worked with them before.

"Involving 'outsiders' might be 'unfortunate' for multiple parties," I cautioned. Translation: I really wanted the CIA to handle this matter. Otherwise, people might end up dead and I had already killed far too many folks publically since retirement, as it was.

"Oh shit," she muttered darkly. "I'll send someone we can trust. Monday?"

"Monday works. Make it sometime past noon. Oh, and I need a favor."

"This has to be good," she muttered.

"The PRC is about to make a Human Rights Inquiry concerning a specific ICE detainee here in my home town. The person in question is an asset via a critical favor for a friend. Her identity should start clarifying a whole host of issues for you. Point some people at it because it is really important to what's going on."

"You are no longer an asset," Betty reminded me.

"Please."

Long pause.

"ICE?"

"Yes."

"It just so happens I know a gal who owes me a favor, or three, who works on Child Exploitation out of their Phoenix Field Office. Special Agent Dana Eibar. It might cost you."

She meant it WOULD cost me, but the individual would also come through for me. After all, when her 'friend' in the CIA's Directorate of Operations 'suggested' she look into something, it had to be worthwhile. I prayed she was married, or a lesbian.

"Thanks."

"You're worth it. Be careful and I expect some serious explaining when you have the opportunity. Night now," and she hung up. Mission accomplished.

{***}

The illegal event was on the 600 block of D Street – a warehouse unit with a disarming business name and an armored gate. I didn't have an invitation, but when I told them my name, the gatekeeper smiled and waved me in. My new ride, while nice, was far from the nicest vehicle on the premises. We were late (it was past the 10 p.m. start time) so we had to walk to the only unlocked entrance.

"Hold up," the door guard motioned. I knew better than ask. Unfortunately ...

"Why?" Sara inquired.

"He asked us to," I headed off his condescending retort.

He had sunglasses (really high-tech light amplification gear) and an ear bud. His tuxedo sheltered his shoulder holstered sidearm. By the stiffness of his right arm, I wagered he had a collapsible baton up his sleeve. Nice to know he wouldn't go straight to lethal violence.

A suitable time later, the door opened for us. I noted it was steal reinforced with upper and lower brackets for bars to be slid into place in an emergency. Waiting for us were two guardians and one middle management type who smiled,

"This way, Mr. Vardanyan, Who are your lady friends?"

"Ms.'s Norquist, Curtis and Patel," I made introductions based on age.

"Who are we meeting?" Dabney broke this time.

"Your hostess for the evening," he grinned over his shoulder. The place was designed to foil a quick breech-entry ~ assumedly by the authorities. We immediately took a turn to the left then climbed up two sets of stairs.

I got the feeling the interior of the building had been designed for three levels though I wasn't sure why. On the second story landing we passed a similarly secure door. The money invested in this site was racking up. At the third level we were escorted down the hallway thirty feet pasted two door then into the third. The hallway went on. Inside the room were five more guardian types.

The explanation was quick in coming.

"No weapons, Mr. Vardanyan," the mouthpiece said. I nodded congenially.

"They are unarmed," I stated while beginning to disarm myself. "Shoulder holstered .45 ... .38 at my back ... knife on my wrist ... knife on my ankle," I pointed out before reaching for each weapon. No reason to stress out the seven armed individuals around me. Darwin Test time.

Two guardians drew their sidearms – a Glock-17 and a Glock-20 – while a third came at me with a 'wand'. He ran it up my sides, along my outstretched arms then over each leg inside and out. Nothing beeped. I had been truthful. A lesson I had learned working for the CIA was if you act like you were cooperating with your captors ~ we were definitely prisoners ~ they were more likely to be sloppy, like these assholes.

What had they missed? My leg and arm braces. If I ended up in an unarmed fight, someone besides me was going to be very sorry.

"Only you," the mouthpiece motioned once they were done. The ladies were to wait.

"V?" G worried.

"They don't look like a group who has made a suicide pact," I stroked her cheek. "You'll be fine."

Out we went.

"Suicide pact?" the lead monkey chuckled. "That's hilarious."

He had kindly only brought his two buddies along. Absent the ladies, my next moves were exceedingly easy. I drove an elbow into the Adam's apple of the chump behind me, relieved him of his firearm and leveled it at the other one's head before he could draw his piece.

There was silence broken only by the air handlers and the other guy struggling to breath. I motioned for the armed guardian to hand me his piece.

"You don't want to ..." manager got out before I drove two fingers into his Solar Plexus, shutting him up. My weapon never wavered. The guy gave me his gun.

I dropped out the magazine then worked out the chambered round. Having taken care of that, I did to same with the first firearm I'd stolen.

"Yeah – suicide pact. As in, 'I will kill all eight of you fucktards if any of those three ladies suffers so much as a scratch, or a bad dream'," I explained. For some reason, despite me having rendered their firearms useless, the two guys didn't seem willing to rush me. I gave the talker a visibly-scarring backhand.

"We clear?" I asked him after his head finished bouncing off the wall.

"I ... ah," he glanced to his two buddies. "Ah ..."

"Don't we have someone to see?" I moved things along. He wanted to order the other two to jump me because he thought he was important. The guys would do what he directed out of fear of his authority and I'd kick all three of their asses. I wanted to avoid that, so I was rushing things along before he could act stupid.

"Pick up your damn guns," he snapped instead. He stormed off. I followed. Two more 'meat lockers' were around the corner, standing watch either side at the next door. They shot the manager an inquisitive look.

"He disarmed them," he groused. They looked at me. I shrugged. The door opened. Inside we went as I had no other real options since it had not been lost on me all the locks I had seen were magnetic and controlled from a remote source.

[THE TEMPEST WITCH]

In I went. Right off the bat I realized this was not the Control Room, so I couldn't go all Special Ops on these ass hats and start killing them. That wouldn't save my companions. The room was dark, with plenty of low-lying chairs and sofas scattered about.

Illumination was provided by four main wall monitors, each one providing an overhead view of a combat area surrounded by an elevated viewing area. The fans were in attendance. The room also had five, smaller, currently dark monitors.

In three of the four arenas, humans were fighting animals in what appeared to be a fight to the death – fucking awesome! (SARCASM) In the fourth, three rough individuals were engaged in a brawl.

In Man vs. Nature #1, a scrawny teenage girl was fighting three Dobermans with a tire iron.