seeking cover from the storm of bullets hurtling toward him. Kamran wiped the blood out of his right eye with a sleeve, then fired a short burst of his own toward where he’d last seen Mei-Lun standing.
And, of course, the Wah Ching leader had not come alone. In answer to the fire from Kamran’s men, at least a dozen guns were sniping at his party now, their slugs buzzing around him like a swarm of mosquitoes on steroids, all thirsty for blood. He saw another of his soldiers fall, clutching a hip and firing back one-handed as he dropped.
“Behind the cars!” Kamran cried out for those who weren’t already ducking under cover. “Everybody! Quickly!”
Bullets struck the Lincoln Town Car and the two Volkswagens, taking out their windows, hammering their doors and fenders with the noise of a demonic hailstorm. Kamran rolled across the Lincoln’s trunk and landed on his knees, cursing the pain that lanced through them from impact with the pavement.
What were the goddamned triad goons doing here? More to the point, where was his heroin?
Kamran pushed up into a crouch and waddled toward the front end of the Lincoln, where a couple of his men were trading shots with Mei-Lun’s soldiers. They would have to torch the cars when they were finished here, assuming they could even drive away, and file a theft report with the police. But first, they had to finish killing off the Wah Ching gunners who had pinned them down.
And all before someone inside the hospital summoned police.
Kamran had nearly reached his soldiers when the closer of them suddenly pitched over sideways, knocking down the soldier to his left. Kamran had seen the blood spurt from his throat, an inch or two below his right ear, nearly shearing off his head, and knew the angle was all wrong.
He pressed closer against the car, then turned back to face the hospital. The shot had come from that direction, somehow. From the trees or someplace higher up? With all the gunfire ringing in his ears, he could not single out a given shot, but it occurred to him that Mei-Lun had boxed them in to cut off their retreat.
Mei-Lun or someone else.
Once more, he heard the unknown caller’s mocking voice, directing him and giving orders, setting up the meet. A man with the audacity to kill six soldiers and escape with ten kilos of heroin, perhaps? Did that explain the Wah Ching presence at their rendezvous? Were both sides simply chessmen in his deadly game?
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