could probably pick up one—Whoa—” Schwarz cut off. “Giant?”
“Yeah.”
“Someone just stepped into the back room,” Schwarz announced. “He was a head taller than anyone else in the bar.”
Lyons slid into a leather jacket, then checked his shoulder holster and belt rig. In his belt, he had a Kissinger-tuned Colt 1911A1 pistol, while under his armpit, he had his .357 Colt Python. In the biker bar, he’d need every ounce of firepower and stopping power he could get. The heavy .45 pistol and its Magnum revolver counterpart would prove some serious medicine for dropping a rampaging biker, if worse came to worst.
Lyons looked over to Blancanales. “Pol, you’re not going to be too popular with the biker crowd.”
“You want me as backup?” Blancanales asked. He realized that Lyons was right. Outlaw bikers, the one-percenters as they called themselves, were fiercely jingoistic. They didn’t even like foreign-made guns, let alone Japanese motorcycles. Hispanics and blacks would be looked at as intruders, and at the very best, would leave covered in bruises.
“Keep the driver’s seat warm,” Lyons said. “And get some heavy firepower to back up me and Gadgets.”
Blancanales nodded, pulling a Heckler & Koch UMP-45 out of his case. The high-tech, .45-caliber submachine gun provided more punch than the 9 mm subguns the Able Team had carried in the past. The lightweight machine pistol was an optimal compromise between an M-16 and an Uzi, it could fire twenty-five fat, subsonic rounds, either with authoritative thunder or muffled silence with the right suppressor. With built-in rails for scopes and gun lights, as well as a polymer frame and stock, it was a featherweight, while still possessing awesome firepower. “I’ve got your back, Ironman.”
Schwarz took a deep breath and put his surveillance equipment away, double-checking his gear. “Glock 23 and Kissinger Colt. Two magazines for each.”
“Pocket a couple more,” Lyons suggested. “These guys might not give us much time to get some fresh ammo.”
Schwarz nodded and pocketed a few fresh clips. “We’re not really here to just talk.”
“It’s their choice,” Lyons answered solemnly.
Schwarz did another check to make sure he could reach his guns easily. “I was afraid of that. Get ready to bail us out, Pol.”
Blancanales was already affixing an M-203 grenade launcher to the rail under the UMP-45’s barrel. “Ready, willing and able.”
“Real funny, Pol,” Schwarz commented, getting out of the van.
Schwarz hopped down to the dirt, then looked over at Lyons whose face was a mask of intense concentration. He knew his buddy was in the zone, now. Focused, ready for anything, and he knew from experience that not even a platoon of Spetsnaz special forces soldiers could slow him when he was like that.
The Skulls and Chains bar loomed in front of them, and when they were still a few feet from the small porch, still behind the wall of Harley-Davidson bikes, the front door slammed open. Two grim, burly bikers with shotguns burst into view, their faces twisted into rictuses of anger.
Schwarz reached for his Colt and his Glock, and dived to one side. He knew, though, that things were going bad when the blast of the shotgun slammed into Carl Lyons’s chest, billowing out the lapels of his leather jacket.
CHAPTER FIVE
Calvin James toweled off the last of the droplets, slipped into a pair of silk boxers and tugged on his jeans. Barefoot and bare-chested, he glanced at himself in the mirror. The dip in Victoria Harbour had left him grungy and his old clothes, tossed into a heap in the corner of the changing area, were still damp and smelled of more than a little sewage.
James wrinkled his nose at it, but in the end, he couldn’t blame the people living on the boats moored in the harbor. The sprawl of Hong Kong was crowded, and they went to water to escape the claustrophobic conditions. Living at sea meant that they could dump their garbage and refuse overboard. It wasn’t a swimming pool, and though China might have wanted to cut down on the pollution, they simply had no place to move the people in the floating slum.
So they ignored it, just like the provisional Hong Kong government had in the century before.
He picked up his belt and slid the anchoring loops of his Galco Jackass rig over it, threading it through his new pants. Pulling on a fresh T-shirt, he slipped his arms through the loops, then looked at the disassembled Glock 34 by the sink.
Rafael Encizo had won the contest as to who would get to rinse off the grime of the harbor first, but that also meant that he was still working on the polymer pistols. He laid them out and was running the hotel room’s complimentary hair dryer over the damp mechanisms. Though the polymer and coated steel components were as close to rustproof as possible, the dunking and firing underwater was an unusual stress on the pistols, and they wanted to be sure that the handguns would be in perfect working order. Encizo’s big and little Glocks were already back together, while James’s pistols were still field-stripped.
“Almost done?” James asked.
“Let’s kick it up a notch.” He clicked the hair dryer to a higher intensity and kept sweeping the parts.
“Thanks. Let me know when you’re done,” James answered. He went to pull on his socks and shoes, and sat on the bed. He was tired, but restless.
“You okay, Cal?” Encizo asked.
“Just thinking how we’ve been played for suckers by AJAX,” James told him.
“You and me, or Johnstone?”
“The whole Farm,” James answered. “When we talked with Barb back home, she said that David and the others were ambushed in Africa.”
“You think they were expecting us?” Encizo returned. “I know Phoenix Force has made enough enemies over the years…”
“Not us in particular. Ka55andra might think that we’re a special enforcement arm of the Department of Homeland Security,” James replied.
Encizo faked shock. “We’re not?”
“I know. Sometimes I feel like we’re given the shaft, going after the unimportant thugs, while the real monsters run around free.”
“We have a leash for a reason, Cal,” Encizo answered. “But Hal’s looked the other way when we’ve slipped it before.”
“I know. Now I understand why Striker quit playing by the rules and became his own cat,” James explained.
“We also serve. Just think of how many more lives would have been ruined if we hadn’t been there,” Encizo said.
James took a deep breath. “But Ka55andra knew that there was going to be some sort of reaction. She’s got her thumb on the pulse of the investigations against her. The attack on HedSpayce, the ambush for us and McCarter.”
“No news on Carl and the gang, either,” Encizo added.
“It
