Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (dark books to read TXT) 📕

two different directions—the screech of tires, a loud, heavy crash as something—an automobile, maybe—slammed into something else immovable.

Then, more sharp gunshots. A barrage of them. A ricochet. Shouts of fear. Or pain?

He tried to get to his feet, to spot an alleyway, a trash barrel, anything for cover. Dillon had been in enough shootouts to know when he was in the middle of one. All he could do was roll into the skinny alcove that led into the restaurant’s foyer. He tried to make himself as small and invisible as he could.

He smelled garlic. Garlic and gun smoke. Then gasoline.

“Master Chief Dillon! Master Chief Dillon?”

Someone—a female voice—was calling his name. At least a name to which he had not answered in more than a decade. He dared a quick look around the corner of the alcove.

A beautiful Asian woman, in a business suit but assuming a perfect fighting shooting stance, her pistol pointed not toward him but at something happening in the street. He glanced that way. A car, on its side against the median barrier, flames already lapping at the engine compartment. A single shooter stretched half out of the driver’s side, motionless, draped across the door, pistol still in his hand, considerable blood dripping off the barrel of his gun onto the pavement.

“Sorry for the body block, but...you okay?”

He finally found the strength to stand, but things around him continued to swirl.

“I think so.”

Traffic was snarled. A few curious drivers were climbing out to see what was going on. Smoke billowed from the overturned vehicle. The waver of a distant siren.

“There was another one in the car. Before he wakes up, how about you come with me?”

“My driver was going to be...”

“He won’t be coming.”

She motioned for him to follow her. They stepped quickly to the end of the block and turned left, up the next street. The maroon Mercedes sat there, half on the curb, its front fender against a crooked light pole. Bo was at the wheel, eyes open, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.

TJ Dillon knew not to even slow down. Nor to doubt the woman. If she had wanted to kill him, she’d had her chance. He dutifully followed her as she quickly jaywalked across the street to a parking garage entrance.

“You obviously know my name. I must have missed yours.”

“I am Li Min Zhou. Admiral Ward told you I would be in contact, right?”

Yes, he had. But not necessarily in the middle of a raging gun battle on a Taipei boulevard. Someone who could fill him in on some things that might impact what he was doing there. Some things to be on the lookout for and why they might matter.

Li touched the key fob and lights flashed on a Honda Accord backed into a spot not far away. She motioned for him to get into the passenger seat. Only then did she stick the pistol into the handbag she had been carrying on her shoulder.

“Bed bugs.”

“Excuse me?”

“If anyone asks why you switched hotels, tell them there were bed bugs.”

“I’m switching hotels?”

She turned and looked at him as she cranked the engine.

“We have already moved your things.” She pulled out of the parking spot with a screech. “Look, they were not after you. They were after me. But they knew before you did that I was going to contact you as you left the restaurant. And you would have been killed in the crossfire, just in case. So far, as far as I know, they suspect that I was merely trying to get close to an American businessman who was working in Taipei. That I wanted to see if I could learn about anything else that might be going on. Like they smell a rat and it might be a cover for other types of espionage.”

TJ Dillon rubbed his forehead with his thumb. He was now dizzier than before, but not from the body blow or the hard landing on the sidewalk.

She steered the Honda to the attendant’s stand, waved at the woman inside—who had already opened the gate for them—and pulled out into the street, turning away from the wrecked Mercedes, the dead driver, and all the mayhem on the main road in front of the restaurant.

“I don’t understand.”

Two police cars rushed past them, lights flashing and sirens shrieking, headed the other way.

“Of course not. It’s complicated. Let’s just say that they know a lot more than they should. Not all. Not nearly all. Just enough to be suspicious, which is concerning but not a showstopper. And to get you, me, and your driver killed. But let’s get as far from here as we can while they are still just one out of three. And then I’ll explain it. If I can.” She turned and gave him an absolutely dazzling smile. “It’s complicated.”

He looked at her sideways and braced himself for the on-two-wheels, tire-squealing turn she was in the process of making.

“Bed bugs, huh?”

That dazzling smile again.

“Occupational hazard.”

7

Vice Admiral Yon Hun Glo awoke from a fitful nap and glanced out the window as his plane banked, coming around to the approach course to Sanya Phoenix International Airport. The city and its powdery sand beaches stretched out along Hainan Island’s southern coast. This tropical isle was one of China’s most popular vacation destinations. High-rise hotels and condominiums lined the beachfront while luxurious vacation homes dotted the hillsides up and away from the beaches.

But Yon Hun Glo had not rushed down here from PLAN Naval Headquarters in Beijing to enjoy some fun in the sun. Far from it. By this time tomorrow, he fully expected to be several hundred miles out to sea.

The staff car, a black Mercedes limo, met the admiral at the VIP gate and immediately sped away, headed out onto China National Highway 225, the Guo Doa. Traffic was thick, slow-moving. Even so, the usually impatient Yon Hun Glo sat back and reviewed the secure emails on his tablet as the limo inched down Jiefang Road into