PROLOGUE
Sham Shui Po, Kowloon, Hong Kong
It was dark and steamy in a slimy alley close to the waterfront. Nearby, the harbour district was ablaze with life. But here, in the winding, deserted, streets around the fish market, filled with the stench of rotting entrails, only a pallid, flickering glow permeated the shifting shadows.
Mike Delaney gripped his model 10 Smith and Wesson .38 caliber special revolver close to his face. He tightened his knuckles and glanced behind to his left. He could just make out his partner Bob Messenger in the gloom close to a dripping fire escape. He altered the position of his gun hand a fraction and shuffled forward, staying in the shadows opposite the target doorway. Under a gap at the base of the door a faint yellowish light the color of bile seeped into the alley.
Inside the building, a secretive triad group was doing business with a team of non-Chinese freelance criminals that had come together just for this deal. Drugs in return for people. A consignment of crack cocaine traded for human lives – lives that now had no hope, no future except the slavery of the streets and the pimp bars around the world.
Delaney had not set this up. There were a number of US and British citizens inside the target building that needed sensitive handling and that’s why the superintendent had requested Delaney and Messenger’s presence – unusual in an operational situation on the streets of Hong Kong.
Behind Messenger a small unit of armed officers awaited a signal. Another team under the command of a senior officer was moving in at the other end of the alleyway, blocking any escape. When the signal was given, that team would go in first. The operation had been planned meticulously. Delaney could just see Messenger’s shadow shifting against the wooden planks of a storage shed.
A movement caught his attention.
It was just a shape melding within the darkness above and to his right. There was a momentary glint of something.
Was it metal?
Instantly Delaney was on full alert, his instincts triggering a surge of adrenalin. He considered warning Messenger via their microphone link but knew it could give away their position. Support units would maintain radio silence at all costs. So he hesitated. Normally he could feel the unseen presence of his fellow officers. But now, all he could sense were emptiness and isolation. The darkness surrounding him was engulfing. It was almost palpable. Delaney experienced a deep unease, a clammy sense of betrayal. But, he couldn’t be certain.
There was only one way of finding out.
Delaney began to move silently across to the target doorway. There was a shuttered window next to a sun blistered door. Delaney was sidling towards it.
Yes.
There was definite movement.
Delaney stared at the spot. All his experience told him something was wrong. Someone was positioned about ten feet up from the ground on a low roofed building. He was sure of it. But this wasn’t part of the operational plan. Nobody had been briefed to take up that position.
Sniper.
Delaney ordered himself to trust his instincts. As he moved out of the shadows he heard a whispered click and a glimmer of reflected light as from a scope. Messenger heard it too but was already moving into the open.
Delaney didn’t hesitate.
He sprinted into the open alleyway, aiming at the shape on the unlit rooftop as Messenger started to crouch and run, swiveling to take aim.
The crack of the rifle shot when it came echoed around the empty alley. There was no-one behind the doorway or inside the building. If there had been there would have been uproar and movement.
There was no drug deal.
There was no back up.
There was only Delaney and Messenger as sitting ducks. There was only the bullet sizzling its way towards Mike Delaney. Messenger yelled and Delaney dived as the bullet found its target – but not the one the sniper had aimed at. Bob Messenger screamed once as the high velocity shell punched home and entered his lower back. He fell to the ground with a thud. Delaney cried out with anger and anguish, and saw the assassin move, take shape, reflect light, and jump back over the other side of the building.
Delaney was torn between attending to his fallen colleague, a man who had become one of his few true friends, and his desire to exact immediate and terminal revenge. Then he saw the expression in Messenger’s eyes.
He chose the latter.
The chase took little more than five minutes. Delaney rammed the revolver into his waistband as raced around the other side of the building, towards the lights of Yen Chou Street. He couldn’t risk using a firearm in this situation. His target was running out of a narrow alleyway just ahead of him as Delaney vaulted a row of barrels and wooden planks. The assassin was fast but Delaney was faster.
As he ran, Delaney picked up a heavy cudgel-shaped piece of wood and hurled it at the moving target. It caught him between the shoulder blades and caused him to momentarily stumble and slow. He had wisely dropped the rifle.
With Delaney approaching at speed, the assailant decided to stand and fight.
It was a fatal mistake.
Delaney smoothly sidestepped a jabbed punch, crouched and struck with the heel of his palm deep into the solar plexus, a fraction later he stepped in with a shattering two-knuckle strike to the carotid artery. The assassin dropped instantly. Delaney went to finish him off but it was not required.
Delaney rolled the body onto its back. He had seen the man’s face before - in a coded, high security file at operational headquarters. Delaney walked a few yards to pick up the rifle. He held the Remington 280 official police issue weapon in his hands then swung it over his shoulder. This was no triad hit man. This was a trained police marksman.
As Delaney retraced his steps to tend to his colleague and friend he called base command for a clean-up squad. There was a crackle on the line and a series of rapid clicks. Delaney had played it by the book but inside he knew. It was a set-up and he wasn’t supposed to have emerged alive.
And that’s when an iron web of deceit and lies tightened around Mike Delaney.