and shredded clothing that had replaced his stomach before he crumpled in a dying heap.
The other intruder reached for his own gun, but before he'd gotten it out of his pocket saw two more plainclothesmen emerge from the branching corridors at his rear. They all had their weapons drawn, and had triangulated their aim to put him in a perfect crossfire.
'Hold it!' he said. Dropping the gun to the floor, kicking it away from him, and slowly raising his hands above his head. 'Don't shoot, okay? Okay?'
Their guns extended, the Sword ops moved in and took him.
Swinging around the grille of a car, Kirsten tore into the aisle and ran like hell, making for the driveway in a wild headlong dash.
She heard overlapping footsteps behind her, close, close, and pushed herself to move even faster, her legs pumping, arms working at her sides like pistons—
And then, suddenly, one of her pursuers sprang from behind a parked car several yards in front of her.
Between her and the driveway.
His right eye was bloodshot and swollen, and there was a thin line of blood trickling down his cheek from its lower lid.
It was the man she'd grappled with in the apartment. He had some kind of gun in his hand — a submachine gun, she thought, though she was hardly an expert — and was holding it out at her.
'No more shit from you,' he said in Bahasa.
She halted, glanced over her shoulder.
Two more of the men who'd come for her were walking quickly up the aisle in her direction, their firearms held downward, flat against their legs. The fourth stalker had emerged near the spot where she'd been hiding.
'Just come on over here, I won't hurt you,' said the one blocking her path to the driveway. He motioned with his gun. 'Let's go.'
Kirsten didn't budge, and was amazed to realize she was shaking her head in the negative.
He shrugged, holding his weapon steady. She could hear the other three coming close behind her.
'You want to wrestle some, more, we wrestle,' he said, and took a step forward.
'Hold it right there! Bayaso reya/'
The voice echoing through the court stopped all four of the men in their tracks. An expression of stunned surprise on his features, the one in front of Kirsten abruptly looked around for its source.
'Drop the gun!' the voice said in Bahasa.
Still looking from side to side, the man blocking the driveway moved the gun off of Kirsten, but didn't lower it.
Kirsten heard a crack like the sound of a detonating firecracker. And then a blossom of crimson appeared in the middle of the man's rib cage and he pitched facedown to the asphalt, his submachine gun clattering from his grasp.
'I hope the rest of you are smarter,' the voice said. 'It's finished.'
Kirsten turned her head, saw one of the gunmen behind her start to raise his weapon, instantly heard two more sharp cracks — only now coming from a different part of the court. The man screamed and fell over clutching his knees, blood spraying out from between his fingers.
The remaining pair of men tossed down their weapons and started to run, scrambling out of the aisle, and then bolting wildly toward the driveway exit. No one tried to stop them.
Her eyes wide and staring, Kirsten looked uncomprehendingly around the court, and all at once saw a brown-skinned Malay spring to his feet behind the tail of a car, several aisles down and directly across from where the first stalker had fallen dead. An instant later two more people appeared near the one who'd been shot in the knees — a white man with close-cropped hair and an Oriental woman.
The man with the short hair holstered his gun beneath his jacket and approached her.
'Kirsten, it's okay, you're safe,' he said in a calm, level voice. 'I'm Pete Nimec.'
She started to say something in response, but her throat had closed up, and her teeth were chattering too violently.
Instead, she strode over to him, put her face against his shoulder, put her arms around him, and started crying.
Noriko had gone to wait in the apartment with Kirsten while Nimec and Osmar took care of business in the parking court.
'Mr. Nimec,' Osmar said. 'There is something I must show you.'
'Right.'
Nimec finished flex-cuffing the wounded man, folded a blanket he'd gotten from the apartment under his head, then went over to Osmar.
Kneeling over the body of the one he'd dropped, the Malay lifted his motionless hand off the asphalt.
'You see kris tattoo?' he said, glancing up at Nimec.
Nimec nodded. 'Guy I cuffed has exactly the same marking on him. What the hell is it, some kind of cult sign?'
Osmar shook his head.
'Is more like what you Americans call…' He made a low sound of concentration in his throat, as if groping hard for words. Then he snapped his fingers. 'Ah,' he said. 'Colors'
'Gang colors, you mean,' Nimec said. 'As in the Crips and Bloods.'
Osmar nodded, and placed his finger on the tattooed skin. 'The kris, many pirate gangs have such marks. But you see designs on blade?'
Nimec squatted beside him for a closer look. He did indeed see them — grotesque anthropomorphic figures that reminded him a little of the paintings on Egyptian tombs.
'They are rakasa,' Osmar said. 'Demons. Different for each brotherhood.'
Sudden understanding spread across Nimec's features.
'These two punks… someone familiar with regional gang crime would be able tell their affiliation from the markings,' he said
Osmar nodded again. 'And this one, I know well from when I was with police,' he said. 'The men work for Khao Luan. He is Kuomintang.'
The word rang a vague bell. Nimec searched his memory a few seconds.
'A heroin trader?' he said finally.
Another nod. 'None are more powerful. The Thai army, they make him to flee during pacification program. Ten years ago, maybe more. Since then, he is in Indonesia.'
Nimec gave him an imperative look. 'Where? Does anybody know where?'
'Everyone knows, and everyone fears to touch him,' Osmar said. 'In parts of Banjarmasin, the Thai has longer arms than the government.'
Nimec was quiet, letting it all sink in. What connection could a man like that have to Monolith? What on earth had Max stumbled onto?
After a moment he clapped a hand on Osmar's arm and nodded firmly.
'My friend, we're about to do some more island-hopping,' he said. 'And I promise you, if this guy's involved in Blackburn's disappearance, I'll cut his fucking arms off myself'
Chapter Twenty-five
The surviving member of the pair that got into the Sacramento vault hadn't talked — not to the Sword detail that apprehended him, not to the Feds after he'd been given into their custody. And it was anybody's guess whether he was going to talk.
Gordian, however, wasn't sure that was essential to determining who had been behind the act.
The main question for him, then, was of motive.
