THE MASTER'S GAME PLAN

MONDRAGON WAREHOUSE 7:00 PM... Pale light poured down through the roof, slicing the darkness like a blade. Dust drifted in the beams. The air smelled of rust and oil, with a trace of sea salt that clung to the skin. Five trucks sat parked inside, their engines still warm. The men moved quietly, inspecting every crate. Soft footsteps on concrete. No one spoke. Everyone knew each word carried the price of danger. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Tang." The old man in the white suit greeted him warmly. He held out his hand, the ring on his finger flashing in the light, and the other man took it at once. "Of course! It's you, Mr. Mondragon!" replied the elderly Chinese man in the black tuxedo, smiling with a smile that never reached his eyes. "Marco," Mondragon ordered without turning his head, "secure the area." His right-hand man nodded. Ten men followed him, and the darkness at the back of the warehouse swallowed them. Mr. Tang's gaze lingered on that direction. "We're making sure the place is safe," Mondragon explained. "Yes, right. Thank you." Eight years in this trade had taught him the smell of danger, and tonight it hung faintly in the air. He glanced over his shoulder. "Where's Dave?" "He left, boss." "The attaché case?" No one answered. His men exchanged glances. Not one of them was carrying it. His eyes swept every corner. Nothing. "Simon?" "He went to the back of the warehouse, boss." "Find Villamayor," he ordered, hard and sharp. "Yes, boss." Behind the warehouse, fists and kicks flew in silence between two men, neither willing to yield. One wore a black tuxedo. The other, in black from head to toe under a leather jacket, kicked from the air. The tuxedoed man blocked it with his arm, but not the fist that followed. It struck his face. He went down, his back slamming into the cold floor, dust rising around him. Out front, Mondragon couldn't keep still. Every minute slipped by, and his man was still nowhere to be found. The vein in his neck throbbed. Cold sweat ran from his nape to his temples. Marco came closer. "Clean, boss." The word landed like a bomb. It meant payment time, and the man carrying the money was still missing! "Where is the money, Mr. Mondragon?" Tang's voice was cold, his patience fraying. "Please wait a little bit, Mr. Tang." "What are we waiting for?" Mondragon fell silent. He couldn't admit there was a problem. His patience snapped. "WHERE IS VILLAMAYOR? FIND HIM!" His shout echoed through the place. Everyone went still. If they couldn't pay, he knew exactly what would happen! Weapons clicked into readiness on both sides. Every gun sounded as loud as the pounding of his heart. "Where is the money!" The smile had vanished from the Chinese man's lips. Mondragon raised one hand, fingers trembling though he forced them steady, asking them to wait a little longer. He refused to believe another man he trusted could stab him in the back: his left-hand man. Villamayor had helped him make tonight's biggest deal. Now it was about to fall apart! Then came slow footsteps, a man walking calmly out of the dark. His heart pounded with anticipation. A man stepped into view, dressed in pure black from shoes to hat. An attaché case hung from his right hand. Mondragon felt like a man who had been drowning and had just broken the surface! "Here! Mr. Tang, the money is here!" "Good!" "I'm sorry, boss," the man murmured softly. "Where the hell did you come from, Villamayor!" Mondragon snapped, close to striking him. "Checking the area, boss." "Then check it!" He jabbed a finger toward the back. "Yes, boss!" the man answered brightly. He set the case on a small table and walked over to the vehicles. Mondragon trusted him; once, he had saved him from certain disaster, and ever since had fed him ideas for the business. His business had thrived because of an organization he belonged to. The group's private planes carried the products from abroad; here, they were only transferred to trucks, as tonight. "All set, boss." Dave came back, two cans of imported sardines in his hands. The two groups met in the middle to inspect the goods before payment. "Open them," Mondragon ordered. The first lid popped. White fish lay stacked inside, glistening in oily sauce. The smell of brine mingled with the smell of rust. The two old men looked at each other. The second lid popped. White powder wrapped in cellophane, gleaming, its quality almost beautiful. "Because of this product," he said quietly, "we'll have a new product that everyone will crave, young and old, through legal means." Everyone laughed. "The attaché case." Marco opened it. The locks clicked, and rows of dollar bundles lay in view. "Mr. Tang, it's worth two million US dollars." "Good! You never disappoint me." Even paying out such a sum, he'd earn nearly double once it was distributed to their partners. "Will you stay after this?" "No. We're going back immediately." They shook hands, firm and warm, the sign that the deal was done. "Marco." He turned toward his right-hand man, but Marco wasn't beside him. "Where is he?" he asked Dave. "He left, boss." "Damn it! Why do you all keep leaving!" The wind stirred, carrying a sharp, metallic smell. He knew it well. Blood! Marco appeared and blocked the way. The world slowed. Every step he took carried terrible danger! Everyone's eyes fell on what he was dragging: a man sprawled limp, seemingly lifeless, a long red trail smeared across the floor behind him. "Simon..." Mondragon said bitterly. He couldn't believe a man had paid for this with his life! Simon had been one of his best. The old man's face darkened. Slowly, he turned his gaze to the Chinese man. He knew how things worked: no credits given, no losses forgiven! "What is the meaning of this?" he asked, his voice low but dangerous. Marco dropped the body and c****d his gun. The Chinese had only about fifteen men. Mondragon had more than forty. Tang seemed to panic, but he still spoke calmly. "I don't know, Mr. Mondragon--" "Nǐ chūmài wǒmen ma?" Mondragon asked flatly, convinced they were being betrayed. "Dāngrán bùshì!" the Chinese man protested at once, swearing he would never double-cross them. His eyes were wide, his palms cold, sweat running down his temples. But Mondragon didn't believe him. He yanked the .45 from the back of his pants and aimed it at the man's face. Long arms rose in unison on both sides, each aimed at the other. "I will kill you!" His hands were raised, trembling. Without warning, a gunshot tore through the silence. The bullet struck the old Chinese man in the forehead! It came from Marco. The barrel was still smoking. As the Chinese man fell, Dave dragged Mondragon behind him to shield him, then ran for the exit, firing a rain of bullets. Outside, they looked back, and all at once the warehouse exploded! The earth shook. Fire swallowed the quiet of the night. Vehicle after vehicle blew up, and the force threw them through the air. The sky spun. A shrill ringing echoed in his ears. He hit the ground, coughing, the taste of ash and blood on his tongue. The building blazed like a burning hell, the storehouse of everything he lived on! Old Mondragon froze. The roaring flames reflected in his eyes, devouring the business he had worked years to build. Rage and pain showed in them. Mondragon screamed at the top of his lungs! "WHO THE HELL TRIED TO BRING DOWN A MONDRAGON?!" But that was not what he feared most. It was what would happen once the organization found out! No one moved in their world except through the organization. The group was called "The Silent Four" here in Zamboanga, and he was the fourth. Their moves were quiet, but they were the secret hands running the entire region. Their influence already reached across Asia. Some of the survivors staggered out, only to be met by bullets from somewhere. Everyone panicked, but no one knew who the enemy was! Dave yanked him by the wrist. "This way, boss!" They ran toward the parking area. They were almost there when his cellphone rang, stopping him in his tracks. He stared at the glowing screen in his sweating palm. No. 2 calling... Not a client. Not one of his men. No. 2. His hands shaking, he closed his eyes briefly and answered. "Hell--" ["It's really hell. You got caught."] His heart pounded harder, because it was a different voice on the line. "I'll make it right-" The words tumbled out too fast, too desperate, before he could stop them. "Sen-" ["You're out of the game."] "No! I still have a son, Jeric! We'll make it up to you!" ["You know the rules."] "No! Please, I'm begging you!" The line went dead, and the blood drained from his face! "Boss, we need to get out of here." Years of hard work had vanished in seconds! His hand was already on the car door when they froze at the sound of a gun being c****d behind them. Dave's grip on his wrist tightened. The man aiming from behind spoke. "You're under arrest, Joaquin Mondragon!" Slowly he turned, and slowly a grin crept across his lips! Because behind that man stood Marco, his own gun trained on him. "BOSS, RUN!" He seemed to come to his senses and ran, but stopped dead when an arm wrapped around his neck, tight and suffocating, as cold steel pressed against his temple. "Time to settle this!" It wasn't the gun that stopped him. It was the voice. "Dave..." The word barely came out, as though he hoped he had heard wrong. He turned his head slightly. Every last hope vanished. The face that had stood as his guide for such a short time, the man to whom he had entrusted his life. Gone. No remorse. No conscience. Slowly, Dave shifted his aim to Marco while still holding Mondragon by the neck. Marco aimed at the enemy, the enemy aimed at him, and now Villamayor aimed at Marco. A triangle with no clear way out, where one mistake would leave someone on the ground! His mind raced backward, fitting together everything that had happened tonight. The missing case. Simon's body. The explosion. It had all been planned, and it wasn't the Chinese. It was this man! "What does this mean, Villamayor?" Old Mondragon's voice trembled, not from fear but from fury. The man gave a thin smile, cold and final... the smile of someone who had been waiting a long time for a moment like this!