“Copy,” Clark said. “Stand by.”
Everyone carried a Heckler & Koch MP5 now, along with their sidearms and two extra mags per weapon. Not ideal for an armed assault, but it was what they had. Clark doubted the guards inside had half that, but he made it a point never to underestimate a situation. Each firearm was outfitted with a Gemtech suppressor. As a rule, Clark didn’t care for the subsonic ammo needed to remove the easily identifiable snap from each shot, but they would be operating in close quarters, so the reduced ballistics wouldn’t be too much of a factor. Adara carried a Ruger Mark IV .22 with an integral suppressor that was exponentially quieter than the nines, even with their subsonic rounds. She was deadly accurate with the setup out to fifty yards, farther if the need arose. Clark had used slingshots that were louder. Her job was to take out the cameras in front of the building, then follow Clark in once he breached the front door. Dom had an identical weapon for any cameras — or sentries in back. Once inside, both would revert to the SMGs. The suppressed .22 was so quiet that people shot with it sometimes didn’t realize they were dead, and kept up return fire longer than they would have had they been hit with something a little louder. In addition to the digital images of Suparman’s retina, Midas carried the Halligan and other breaching equipment. Ryan and Clark completed their loadouts with three percussion grenades each.
They were going to get Ding back.
“In position,” Clark said, pulling a black balaclava over his head. Apart from concealing his identity to cameras, any kind of mask provided a little extra psychological gut punch to the opposing force. “Our primary goal is to get the tech. I’ll provide you overwatch. Everyone knows their area of responsibility. ROE remain the same: Kill everyone who isn’t Ding.”
Ding Chavez turned his head, spitting a mouthful of blood on the floor. His hands and ankles were tied to the back of a heavy wooden chair. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.
“You guys are in a shitload of trouble.”
The stubby man who’d been hitting him nonstop for the past three minutes must have had some boxing experience. Chavez felt like he was getting kicked by a very angry mule. He’d knocked the chair over three times, to the delight of the other three men in the room. The lateral movement had allowed Chavez to give with the force of the blows and taken out a good deal of the sting, but he pretended it hurt even worse. Thankfully, the boxer must not have been doing his cardio and got winded from the effort, giving Chavez a short break.
His neck was still on fire from the initial stomp in the van and his right eye was swollen shut. Mercifully, his teeth — usually the first thing to go in this kind of beating — were still intact for now.
The apparent leader, a guy in a sweat-soaked gray mechanic’s shirt, stood by, smacking a length of twisted steel cable against an open palm. Chavez suppressed a shudder. He’d seen bodies that had been beaten with rods and cable. Human anatomy didn’t stand up to that sort of treatment for long. Bones shattered, soft tissue burst. It wasn’t a pretty picture.
The man with the cable yanked Chavez’s head up by his forelock. “You are American?”
Chavez gave a feeble nod. “Yep.” It was the first question they’d asked. No point in lying about it.
“What do you want with Mr. Suparman?”
“I… Who?”
The boxer hit him again, bringing a round of chuckles from the two bystanders against the wall.
Chavez needed to come up with a story before this guy got serious and broke his jaw.
“I am trying to warn you,” he said. “You really need to stop. My people… they are more dangerous than you know.”
“And what people are they?” Cable Guy asked.
“Whatever it is you think you know,” Chavez said, “you’re wrong.”
“Is that so?” the man with the cable said. “You think to target the most technologically advanced company in Indonesia for attack and then expect to slip by unnoticed? Your American audacity is laughable.” He prodded Chavez in the chin with the jagged end of the cable, tilting his head up again. “Mr. Suparman receives threats from all over the world. Extortion, kidnapping, industrial theft. We have facial-recognition software in many areas around the store, always looking for people who loiter for too long.” He smiled. “So, you see, I already know you were watching the store from the hotel across the street. Would you like to tell me why or shall we advance to the next level?” He swung the cable over his head, making it whir menacingly through the air. “I don’t know if you are aware, but this length of steel is capable of removing a person’s head. I have seen it personally.”
“I’ll bet,” Chavez said. “You run Suparman’s security?”
