Global Tilt Read online

  He entered a square with a fountain in the center. People were standing around. Flashing lights caught his attention. Medics were attending to someone on the sidewalk. It looked like someone had collapsed. People were gawking at the spectacle.

  A cop on a bike came to a stop up ahead, pulled off his sunglasses, and looked at the emergency personnel.

  Chuck changed course and saw more flashing lights ahead. He noticed a foot cop moving his way through a group of tourists. He cut across the square towards the opera house. The performers were standing at the corner of the building, watching all the excitement. A painted rock held the door to the opera house open. They weren’t watching, so Chuck ducked inside. He hid in the costume room with the door slightly ajar. The cast had left their bags in the costume room, so Chuck fished a laptop out of a tote bag. He accessed a non-confidential government database that Roberston has given him access to. He did some research and promptly learned that the ship Jimmy Chang had mentioned, the Sevastopol, was a Soviet-era Lama Class missile-provision cargo ship. It had been decommissioned and sold to a foreign buyer after the fall of the USSR. Chuck cleared the browser history, put the laptop back in the bag, and listened.

  He figured he’d just wait a few minutes, but the players came back inside—and a cop was with them. The blue shirt was standing outside the door talking with cast members who claimed they saw no fugitive. The cop described Chuck, who listened carefully in the closet. The cop said he thought he’d seen Chuck enter the building, and he called for backup.

  The cast was fired up. The cop kept telling them to quiet down and stay put. Then screams were heard. Gunfire erupted. The cop collapsed. An assassin stalked past as the cast fled. Chuck threw on a mesh safari hat costume piece and made a move for the front exit. He was walking though the empty theatre when an assassin stepped onto the stage and bore down on him with a silenced handgun. Chuck ducked behind a row of theatre chairs and screwed a silencer onto his Glock. The assassin sprinted across the stage, firing sideways. Chuck popped up and fired back once, nailing the shooter in the thigh. The man collapsed and rolled on the stage screaming in agony.

  The guy was still armed, so Chuck stayed low and crawled out.

  On his way out through the front lobby someone said, “There he is!” Heads turned. A woman screamed. People fled. Chuck smiled. They didn’t know a friend when they saw one.

  Neither did the cop who was headed his way on foot.

  CHAPTER 5

  Threading his way down the busy sidewalk, Chuck threw a look over his shoulder in time to see the cop intercepted by a girl in her mid-twenties. An Asian girl in jeans and a red blouse grabbed the cop’s arm and pointed in the opposite direction. She was frantically telling him that the bad guy was down the other way. The cop was distracted by this distressed beauty.

  Chuck realized he was being followed by the woman and realized she was another assassin. He figured this was his chance to find out what was really going on and who was behind it. After picking a lock and leaving the door ajar, he led her into a vacant building, the Big Cat Casino—which appeared to be undergoing renovations—but it was a holiday, so the construction crew was gone.

  As Chuck approached a glass wall at the back of the gaming room, he found himself transfixed by what he saw—a white tiger. Behind the floor-to-ceiling glass panes, the magnificent animal strode back and forth on huge paws and striped legs. It was awesome to behold—a massive creature—truly fearsome. Ten feet in length and weighing close to six-hundred pounds, Chuck shuttered at the thought of ever standing face-to-face with such a predator with no glass between them. It was also one of the most beautiful creatures that Chuck had ever seen, but he knew it was a law unto itself—a law of tooth and claw. Chuck felt a primitive shot of adrenaline pump through his body as he imagined the vicious, awesome power of the tiger’s massive head and thick, muscular neck—apex of an unstoppable killing machine. Chuck had no doubt that this tiger with its oversized machine-like jaws could rip a man’s head off in one second flat.

  Black stripes patterned across the snow-white fur, and eyes as blue as glacier ice looked straight at Chuck. The beast roared and scratched angrily at the six-inch thick glass. Then the tiger turned and walked into its manmade ice cave.

  Wandering around, looking for a good place to ambush the assassin, he saw three doors in a row off the gambling area. A sign over big metal said “Cooler.” The next door was unmarked. He got out his key-ring of lock-pick tools. In thirty seconds, he worked the tumblers and opened an unmarked door. It turned out to be just a maintenance closet. He quickly picked the lock on the next door over, a big metal door that appeared to lead into the glass-walled room/cage for a white tiger. Among his various skills, Chuck was an expert on locks, and he quickly sized up the big door’s lock package. From the smell and the glowing eyes in the man-made cave, he quickly realized that the white tiger was present in his den. Chuck saw a door on the opposite side. He heard growling in the cave. He quickly checked out the locks and handles before shutting the door.

  He stood behind a seven-foot wide, seventy-foot high marble-plated pillar. When he saw where the assassin was headed, Chuck flitted to another hiding spot, this one behind a tarp that had been thrown over a painter’s ladder. He intercepted her as she walked past. She shrieked in fear as he stepped out in front of her.

  “Looking for me?”

  Fear lit up in her brown eyes. “What are you doing? Keep away from me.”

  “Guess you don’t like it when someone turns the tables. Seems to me you were planning to stab me in the back.”

  “No!” She was panicky, her eyes going from side to side looking for an escape route.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them. Turn around.” Chuck patted her down for a weapon. “Alright, turn around.” He looked her over: her black hair was cut short in a bob, yet with soft curls. Her red lipstick and fingernail paint matched her red shirt. She had a nervous, yet steely-look in her eyes. It was truly a shame to see that this amazing girl had gone over to the dark side. What a waste, Chuck thought.

  “Don’t worry about me, Chuck Brandt. You have much bigger problems,” she said.

  “Bigger than an assassin. Nice try.”

  Her face darkened with anger. “I’m not an assassin.”

  “Sure about that?” Chuck snatched her purse away from her, breaking the shoulder strap. He pulled out a handgun. “What do you call this?”

  “Give it back to me.” She reached for it.

  Chuck backed off a couple of steps. “You better start talking fast. Who do you work for?”

  “You.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Shi. I am here to help you. I was sent by Lawrence Robertson to warn you that the assassin’s name is Wan Lee, and his new contract is to kill you.”

  Chuck was quiet for a moment. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

  “You better trust me for now.”

  “I don’t trust anybody, especially when they’re following me.”

  “You’d better start. Wan Lee is following me. If the cop didn’t stop him, he is probably already in the building.”

  “Here, in the casino?”

  “I couldn’t lose him. I tried to get the cop to find him. I don’t think it worked. There are too many people on the streets.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Big Cat Casino

  Chuck told Shi his plan then hid her in a utility closet between a meat cooler and the door to the tiger cage. Chuck said, “Keep the door cracked and watch me right over there.”

  Chuck left the door cracked open. Four massive square pillars seemingly held up the roof of the game room. Placed near the four corners of the sprawling game room, each of the pillars was seven-feet wide and seventy-feet high. The two pillars near the front were covered in marble. The pillars near the back were covered with mirrors for the lowest twenty feet. These back pillars each had an unmarked, mirror-covered door. Chuck picked the lock of the door of the nearest
pillar. He then stepped inside. The two-way mirrors gave him a 360-degree view of the gambling room. These hidden rooms were evidently security posts, perhaps places for security men to watch for cheaters.

  Chuck waited less than three minutes before he saw an Asian assassin creeping around. The guy moved like a showman. He strutted, even when he thought nobody was watching. He was an average-sized thug, but he moved like a Chinese wrestler. He had big round shoulders, a rough, broad face and a mashed nose. He was patient, ducking down behind gaming tables—listening and watching. He exhibited total confidence like he had no worries. Chuck had seen his type before. This guy was no pushover. When he wasn’t carrying out gangland assassinations, he probably fought pit bulls for extra cash.

  After a few minutes of watching and listening, the killer walked past Chuck’s security post. Aiming his gun, Chuck stepped out and said, “That’s far enough, Wan Lee.”

  The killer froze.

  “Drop your gun.”

  Wan Lee hesitated.

  “You want to gamble, Wan Lee? Go for it. You’re in the right place.”

  Wan Lee scowled over his shoulder, sizing up the situation. Chuck saw a devilish glint in his eye. The fact that Chuck hadn’t shot him in the back seemed to embolden him.

  “Like I said, ‘Play your cards—if you’ve got the guts.’”

  Wan Lee considered that for a moment then slowly kneeled down and set his gun on the floor. He kicked it away, but not very far.

  “I hate to do this,” Chuck said. “It’d be a lot easier to just shoot you, which is what you would clearly do to me, but I’ll be honest with you, I’d rather not if I don’t have to.”

  Chuck saw the predatory look sharpen in Wan Lee’s eyes. Looked like he was still sizing Chuck up and deciding on his next move—and bold thoughts were evidently running through his brain.

  Chuck said, “Here’s the deal: I’ll offer you $10,000 dollars in travelers’ checks to identify your employer and give me a ten minute head start.”

  Wan Lee scoffed. “No deal, Brandt. I’ll take the checks off your dead body.”

  “How you gonna do that? I’ve got the gun, here.”

  Wan Lee said nothing. By the look in his eye, Chuck knew Wan Lee was getting ready to make a move of some kind. He was just waiting for his chance. Chuck had seen that fanatic’s gaze before. Wan Lee was here to kill or be killed.

  “I’ll make you a deal that I think you’ll like, Wan Lee. I’ll fight you hand-to-hand. If I win, you talk. If I lose, I die.

  Wan Lee nodded his head.

  “Then move away from the tools and paint. We’ll fight in the open area between the blackjack tables.”

  Wan Lee walked slowly, suppressing a smile.

  Chuck circled around a couple of times, feeling the distance between them. On the corner of his eye, he noticed as Shi stepped out of the utility closet and walked over, aiming her gun at Wan Lee.

  “Put it away,” Chuck said.

  “What?”

  “Just do it. Lee and I are going to settle this with our bare hands.”

  She lowered her gun and stepped behind a blackjack table that was covered with tarp.

  Wan Lee circled again. Then his foot sprung at Chuck as the assassin delivered a wickedly fast side hook kick that caught Chuck by surprise. Wan’s foot hit his chest like a projectile and threw Chuck backwards. He crashed down among a pile of blackjack stools. Wan grabbed one of the stools. Holding it by a leg, he swung it at Chuck, who used another stool to shield the blows. As Wan wound up for an attack, Chuck thrust three wooden legs at Wan’s groin. One leg hit his groin and drove him back. Chuck spun up onto his feet and waved the wooden legs at Wan, who did the same with his stool.

  They both attacked at the same time. The stools met in mid air with incredible force. Two legs of Wan’s chair snapped. A leg of Chuck’s weapon splintered. Once again, they both attacked. Stools swung through the air like fan blade. Loud cracks announced contact. Wooden frames disintegrated in their hands. Chuck was left with nothing. Wan was left with a carved dowel that made an excellent club.

  Wan slashed at Chuck’s chest, delivering trauma to the ribs then delivered more hurt with a reverse strike. Chuck backed off and prepared for the next stick attack, but Wan hit him with another side hook kick. Chuck hit the ground, rolled through, and came up on his feet.

  Wan taunted Chuck with his free hand, threatening strikes, but then unleashing with his club. Two vicious stick blows lashed across both sides of Chuck’s abs, unleashing an almost unbelievable flood of pain. He was surprised he stayed on his feet. He was stunned at how fast Wan was. The shock of those two blows hadn’t even fully registered when Wan, the human propeller, guided his stick through the air in a flurry of speed. Chuck endured two clean shots—left and right. Both his legs sustained direct blows of the club, and it all happened so fast that Chuck had barely seen it coming.

  Pain was confused. It ran circles in his body. Chuck didn’t think any bones were broken, but the pain told him he was in trouble. Adrenaline flooded his nerves and woke up his brain.

  Shi stepped out and raised her gun. “That’s enough. Put it down.”

  “Stay out of it!” Chuck said.

  Shi lowered her gun and backed off.

  Wan made a direct stick attack. Chuck moved inside the swing, blocking the arm and delivering an ax-hand attack at the side of his neck. As Wan staggered, Chuck kicked him. Wan flew to the floor and lost hold of his stick. He reached for it, but Chuck kicked it away.

  Wan got up on all fours and exploded at Chuck, trying to hook his leg and pile drive him to the ground. As Wan rushed in low for the tackle and takedown, Chuck sprawled his legs back into a V and at the same time hammered the attacker’s exposed brachial plexus region. Chuck not only delivered double strikes to the backside of his neck but also used the attacker’s body weight to drop his own legs back while he forced the attacker to the ground. Wan landed on his chest, but Chuck came down on him with all his weight focused on Wan’s forearm, which was on the back of Wan’s hurting neck. With all that weight shoving him down, Wan’s face hit the floor hard.

  Somehow in the chaos, the squirrelly assassin broke free, rolled, and gained his feet, but he was wobbling and doubled over like he was hurt.

  Chuck moved in, but Wan, who was already bent over, charged and hit him, driving Chuck to the ground. With Wan’s shoulder dug into his chest, Chuck reached around his head and clawed his fingers into Wan’s eyes. At the same time, Chuck twisted his head to the side, rolling over sideways. Chuck ended up on top. Now Chuck clawed at his eyes with one hand and pounded his face and neck with the other.

  Somehow Wan hit Chuck’s solar plexis, almost knocking his wind out. Wan bucked off him and escaped out from under Chuck’s legs like a panicked ferret.

  Alarms were sounding in Chuck’s brain. Pain called out to him. Pain was singing an old song.

  Shi was pacing back and forth at the perimeter of the fight area, seemingly agitated by having a gun and not being allowed to use it. Chuck kept seeing flashes of her red shirt without ever looking at her.

  Wan feinted as if to kick, but followed up with a jab, a punch, and a roundhouse kick. All three met their mark. Chuck’s head was spinning. Just when he thought it was over, Wan delivered another message—punch, punch, kick, punch—all solid blows. Chuck was a punching bag against Wan’s inhuman speed.

  As Wan attacked with a crescent kick, the foot hummed past Chuck’s ear. Chuck’s hands shot upward, hitting Wan’s hamstring.

  As Wan’s back hit the floor, Chuck dropped down on top of him, planting his elbows on the floor under Wan’s arms so that Wan was prohibited from using his arms effectively. Chuck then unloaded knee shots at Wan’s floating ribs. Chuck lifted his shin up onto Wan’s groin area. Now, pushing down on his shin, Chuck stood up on his knees and unleashed an ax-hand attack against Wan’s neck. After four vicious blows, Chuck reversed arms and dropped an elbow on his face, hurting the assassin. Sitting on his chest,
Chuck hammered his face several times, but Wan bucked him forward. Chuck landed with his chest on Wan’s face, so he unleashed a set of cupped hand blows at Wan’s head then grabbed at his eyes and dug thumbs into his eyes. Pushing off his thumbs, Chuck sat up on his chest again and whaled at his face with a furious onslaught of punishment. Wan reached for Chuck’s face, but Chuck countered the move by clawing at Wan’s eyes, pushing his head to the side and digging a thumb under his jawbone. Chuck then used his face to get up. The rising motion was a windup for an explosive boot stomp on his shoulder.

  Wan cried out in pain. He tried to get up, but Chuck grabbed his head and kneed his face. The assassin buckled to the ground. Chuck twisted his arm behind his back.

  “Enough!”

  “Tell me who you work for.”

  “Gigante.”

  “Who?”

  “Gigante ‘The Chin’ Lynch.”

  “What is he doing?”

  “I’ve told you enough.”

  Chuck twisted his arm harder.

  “Okay, okay, stop.”

  “Where is the Sevastopol?”

  “He’s about to dock the Sevastopol in Macau, except now it’s called the Utopia.”

  “Why dock here?”

  “He plans to detonate the nukes from here—all at once.”

  “Are you insane? Why would he do that?”

  “Gigante says that according to computer models and electronic forecasting, the massive blast will change the earth’s rotation just enough to bring on a new ice age. Billions will starve or freeze. The earth will get cold very quickly.”

  Silence fell over the empty casino like an axe. It was a suffocating silence that Chuck broke with his words. “I said why would he do that?”