by David Bruns
The North Koreans would come from the mainland, probably by boat.
Rafiq directed one of his technicians to man the ancient radar system and keep a close watch for any ships leaving the mainland toward the island.
Even as he gave the order, he knew it was no more than a precaution. Rafiq knew Pak Myung-rok, and if his old friend had not already taken Rafiq’s advice and fled the country, he would at the very first sign of trouble.
Pak had been feathering his nest at the expense of the Supreme Leader just for a rainy day like this one. He was most likely already somewhere in Southeast Asia, sipping mai tais from the deck of an expensive villa overlooking the ocean.
What about the Chinese? Surely they knew their forces were being manipulated, but had they been able to track the signal all the way back to Rafiq’s tiny island?
So-won was confident in her algorithm that piggybacked their command signals onto the global telecom network. By using commercial satellites, she ensured they would not be shut down quickly, and she was equally confident she could hide their tiny commands in the sea of commercial digital traffic.
Rafiq watched So-won working. Her head was bowed as if she might butt the monitor. She was a woman with a mission, and her work to this point had been all but flawless. He had no reason to distrust the quality of her work or her analysis.
Still, one young woman against an army of Chinese cyberwarriors … was it fair to expect anyone to win that matchup? The Chinese would be coming, he decided. It was only a matter of time.
He wandered over to the radar station, peering over the young man’s shoulder. “What is that?” he said, pointing at a fast-moving air contact on the edge of the radar’s range.
“Commercial airliner, sir. It came out of Yangyang Airport in South Korea and has maintained course and speed.”
Rafiq grunted, watching the blip as it went out of range. He should have upgraded the radar capability in the facility when he had the chance. This system was years out of date.
He walked back to So-won and put a hand on her shoulder. “How’s it going with the Americans?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I never imagined their network was this large. We still don’t have the ability to take over their system without slowing everything else down to a crawl—it might even crash our system. There’s just too many nodes.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry, Chul.”
He cupped her cheek. Her jawline felt fragile in his grip. “You’ve done excellent work, So-won. I am pleased. For now, it’s enough to goad them into counterattacking the PLA. Focus on the Chinese. Get access to their strategic weapons. That’s the prize now.”
She thanked him with her smile and went back to work. Rafiq resumed pacing between his workstation and the radar.
The Americans might not know the extent of the hack, but they knew enough to pull their forces back from the reach of the Chinese. They would figure out the rest eventually.
There was still no sign of any ships departing the mainland—
A sudden thought stopped Rafiq’s nervous pacing.
The Russians.
What if Pak had spilled his guts to the men who’d hired him?
Rafiq and his operation were shielded from discovery by the Americans and the Chinese, but the Russians could draw a straight line from Pak to him—and the Bratva would be eager to cover up its involvement in the mess. And that’s what Rafiq and Pak would be to the Brotherhood: a mess of unnecessary complications that would expose their organization to the kind of international notoriety that no one wanted.
Rafiq’s skin crawled as he imagined Spetsnaz soldiers creeping out of the icy waters of the Pacific to attack his bunker.
That was it, the source of his unease. The Russians were coming.
He called the officer on duty in the barracks. “Wake your men. Tell them to be ready for an attack.”
Six miles above Yang-do Island, North Korea
It was amazing how long it took to fall from thirty-one thousand feet. Almost two full minutes.
Lieutenant Commander John Winkler—Winky, to his team- mates—found an odd sort of peace in a HALO jump. In the blackness of a night like this one, diving out of the red-lit cargo hold of the C-17 Globemaster was like jumping into a cave … and falling for a really, really long time. The sound of the rushing wind consumed his senses.
Sidney, the sixty-pound Belgian Malinois working dog strapped to his chest, didn’t find the experience as peaceful as his partner. He wormed his head into Winky’s armpit. The man patted the vest that covered the dog’s flank and pressed his lips to the animal’s ear. “Hang in there, buddy. We’ll be on the ground soon.”
Using the heads-up display embedded in his visor, Winky checked his alignment in the formation of the twelve SEALs jumping with him. He angled his arms to move his body a few meters farther to the left.
The altimeter on his display spooled away numbers.
10,000 … 9,000 …
The topographical map of the target island showed on his screen, along with their projected trajectory. They were landing on the western end of the landmass, on a grassy plain a hundred meters from the bunker. The barracks were on the other end of the island, nearly a kilometer away. Their mission was to get inside the bunker and secure it before the AC-130 gunship arrived on scene to rain holy hell on the barracks.
4,000 … 3,000 …
He eye-scanned the display to energize comms. “Night vision, on.” His own display bloomed ghostly green.
2,000 … 1,000 …
Winkler wrapped his arms around Sidney, taking care to cradle the dog’s neck.
At 750 feet, his chute deployed, snapping his body vertical as if a giant hand had plucked him by the shoulders. A stiff breeze blew across their landing zone. He grabbed the steering toggles and adjusted their course toward the open field.
Winkler patted Sidney twice, their signal that he was about to release the dog’s tether. He felt the animal tense against his chest. He jerked on the quick release, and Sidney dropped between his legs.
Winkler flared his chute to reduce their speed. Ten feet below, Sidney touched the ground first and raced ahead. Then the SEAL’s feet touched ground. He ran out the landing, releasing his chute and scanning his surroundings, M4 carbine with IR laser designator at the ready. The sparse tree line was clear. The dog crouched in the grass next to him. He raised the camera and antenna on the dog’s tactical assault vest.
“All clear, boy?”
Sidney chuffed an affirmative.
Winkler gathered the billows of black nylon parachute and S-rolled the material so it didn’t blow away.
He checked his HUD and switched to open comms. “Five minutes till the AC-130 lights this place up. Let’s move.”
The landed SEALs broke into two teams, one for each entrance. Winkler, with Sidney on point, fast-walked his men across the open field to the small rise that shielded them from the bunker entrance. A pair of guards flanked a steel door set into a low concrete wall.
“Pogo and Wolfman, take them.”
Two men melted away from the rear of his team, reappearing a few seconds later in his peripheral vision. They crept forward, the silenced muzzles of their rifles parsing the thin underbrush.
A series of muffled pops, like rim shots on a drum, and the two guards sank to the ground.
“Get those charges on the door. Move!”
Two more SEALs rushed past him. They knelt at the steel door, pressing shaped charges into the hinges and locks, then backed away to cover.
“Charges set.”
Winkler checked the clock on his display. “Stand by.” The plan was to blow both doors at the same time. “Blow it.”
“Fire in the hole!” came the response.
The resulting blast crashed through the nighttime silence like a car wreck. In the dust, pulverized concrete, and smoke, the shattered door wobbled and fell open.
Winkler and Sidney were already running at the bright square of light.
Now the real work began.
CHAPTER 59
Sea of Japan, 30 miles east of Yang-do Island
Midshipman First Class Janet Everett tugged her shoulder straps even tighter as the MH-47 Chinook helicopter hit an air pocket. Her headphones crackled, and a voice said, “Nervous flier, Everett?”
She looked around the red-lit cabin to find Captain McHugh grinning at her. He held up three fingers and mimed at her to switch her headset channel.
“You okay?” he said, when they were on a private channel.
She nodded. “I’ve only been on a helo twice before and it wasn’t anything like this.” She sat between Goodwin and Ramirez, opposite McHugh and Riley, toward the front of the open cargo bay. A few seats separated them from a squad of SEALs. They were serious men, armed to the teeth and looking none too happy to be escorting three baby officers into a firefight.
“Mr. Riley said you used to be a SEAL, sir,” she said.
McHugh let his gaze wander toward the rear of the helo. “Long time ago. I was injured by a North Korean sailor. My own fault. Kid with a knife got me when I let my guard down. Maybe this mission is payback, in a way.” He smiled again.
“Do you miss it?”
Brendan shook his head. “No—well, sort of. Yeah, I guess I do. It’s complicated.” He gestured at her fellow mids. “You guys really figured out this computer virus all on your own? That’s some good work, Everett.”
She was glad the darkness hid her blushing. “It wasn’t on our own, sir. We had lots of help, and Mr. Riley, too. He believed in us.” She looked at Goodwin and Ramirez, both sitting with their eyes closed. “Besides, they’re the smart ones. I just sorta translate what they’re doing and fill in the gaps when I can.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Everett. You’re their leader.”
“I guess so, sir.” She felt herself blushing again.
McHugh switched subjects on her. “You know how to use that sidearm?” His eyes dropped to the holstered nine-millimeter at her waist. Neither Ramirez nor Goodwin was armed.
“Yes, sir. My dad was an Army Ranger. I think deep down he wanted a boy, but we made it work. I made the academy pistol team my plebe year and we went to nationals.”
The older man’s eyes met hers. “Okay, that’s good to know, but shooting a target and shooting a man are different. These guys”—he jerked his head toward the exit ramp—“are here to handle the rough stuff. You just make sure your team gets the real job done. As their leader, that’s your mission. Got it?”
Everett nodded.
The helo heeled over as they took a turn at high speed. Everett, looking out the small window, felt like she could reach out and touch the tops of the waves below them.
The pilot’s voice broke into their conversation. “The advance team has started the assault. Landing in one-five minutes.” She felt a shift in the atmosphere of the cabin, a tightening of the tension.
McHugh switched back to the shared channel. “Hey, Everett, did you know Riley was my plebe at the academy?”
Riley, looking miserable strapped into his jump seat, gave her a wan smile and nodded. The helo went into a steep dive.
“Yup,” McHugh continued with a laugh, “my wife Liz and I met young Don when he was no older than Goodwin there. He was a terrible plebe, but he turned out okay, don’tcha think?”
Goodwin and Ramirez smiled.
“I guess he just had a good leader in his life, sir,” Everett said.
Yang-do Island
Rafiq felt his ears pop from a change in air pressure … or an explosion. The emergency alarm screeched out a warning.
The wolves had arrived.
He raced to the security monitors in time to see a line of helmeted men in dark camouflage stream past. One by one, the camera feeds winked out as the intruders moved deeper into the bunker.
He fixed the image in his mind, especially the weapons. They were carrying M4 carbines. Definitely not Chinese. Americans?
Rafiq whirled on the two guards at the door. “Go!” he shouted. “They must not get into this room!”
He walked through the watch floor, pointing at the men and women sitting behind their workstations. “You, stand … and you.” When he had finished, only three operators and So-won were sitting.
Rafiq strode to the front of the room, planting himself underneath the large portrait of the Supreme Leader. “The Americans are here! On the sacred soil of your homeland! You are all cyberwarriors, but now you must become real warriors.” He scanned the room. They were smiling, nodding; some even had tears in their eyes. “Your nation is under attack! I need your sacrifice.” He pointed at the picture above him. “He demands your sacrifice.”
One of the young men in the front row raised his arms over his head and screamed, his head thrown back, teeth bared in a war cry. He rushed to the small arms locker, seized a rifle, and ran out of the room. The rest of them stood frozen in place.
“Go!” Rafiq yelled at them. There was a mad rush for the locker and a few more shouts; then the room fell silent.
Rafiq followed them to the exit, closing the heavy steel door and dogging it shut. They were sealed off from the rest of the bunker.
He walked to his desk and took his Glock 19 from the drawer. He chambered a round and calmly shot the three remaining coders in the head. Their eyes were still wide with shock as their corpses collapsed to the floor.
So-won screamed from behind him. “What are you doing? They were our best coders! We need them.”
“Exactly. They knew the most about what we’ve built. I don’t want that knowledge falling into the wrong hands. The Americans call it tying up loose ends.”
“You bastard. They trusted you. I trusted you.”
Rafiq smiled. “No, So-won, you’re different. I gave you the chance to build a beautiful cyberweapon and you loved every minute of it.” He stepped close and gripped her chin in his hand. Her skin was warm, the bones of her jaw like twigs in his grip. Her pulse beat rapidly against his fingers.
She would not meet his gaze, so he pulled her face close to his. “Admit it,” he said.
Her dark eyes met his—and he knew he had her.
“What do you need me to do?” she said.
“The Chinese,” he said. “Give the command to use nuclear weapons.”
Her eyes flared but stayed locked with his. “I need to gain access to their nuclear codes. That will take time.”
He released her. “Then get started.”
CHAPTER 60
Sea of Japan, 5 miles off Yang-do Island
Everett listened as information streamed across the JSOC raid force channel. They all sounded so calm—not bored, just emotionless and precise.
“Spectres commencing fire.”
Captain McHugh pointed out the window behind her, and she twisted in her seat. The bulk of the island was dark. Suddenly, a string of explosions began on the ground. She switched her comm channel to the private circuit they’d been on before.
“AC-130 gunships,” he said.
“But I don’t see any firing going on,” she replied.
“Drop your night-vision device.”
She lowered the night vision goggles mounted to the front of her helmet and was surprised to see brilliant beams of light shoot from the air to the ground. They lasted a second, then winked out.
“High-energy lasers. UV spectrum. Invisible to the naked eye, but oh so deadly to anything on the ground.” He paused as a massive explosion bloomed into the night. “That would be an ammo dump.”
“Touchdown in two minutes,” came the pilot’s voice. The MH-47 banked hard and started a steep descent. Everett could see another MH-47 out the window mirroring their movements.
A pinpoint of light shot up from the ground toward them. A second later, the flanking helo’s engine exploded.
“This is Eagle Two, I’m hit, I’m hit. Emergency landing.” The helo dropped from sight.
“Spectre One, this is Eagle One. We are takin
g fire. Request assistance.” The pilot of their helo rattled off a string of coordinates.
“Roger that, Eagle One. Commencing fire.” Everett detected a flicker of movement far above them, and the ground next to their landing zone erupted in fire and pulverized earth. Another secondary explosion blossomed out of the darkness.
“Cease fire, Spectre One. Cease fire.”
Ramirez and Goodwin were both looking out the window now. She saw Ramirez mouth, Holy shit.
“Hundred-and-five-millimeter shells, pinpoint accuracy,” Brendan said, switching back to the group channel. “Those guys could shoot a golf ball off a tee from a mile away. Hang on, Midshipmen, we’re coming in hot.”
The exit ramp dropped as the helo touched down. The SEALs at the rear of the craft ran out of the cabin with weapons up. Brendan shepherded the mids down the ramp, where their escort had formed a wedge. At the bottom, he halted and crunched the midshipmen and Riley together, then leaned in to shout in their faces.
“Listen up. This is not a movie. You can get shot. Stay behind me, keep your heads down, and you’ll be fine. Got it?”
They nodded. Brendan keyed his throat mic. “Let’s move out.”
Yang-do Island
“How much longer?” Rafiq peered over So-won’s shoulder at the screen. The Chinese Second Artillery Corps nuclear forces had an additional level of security, an unfortunate twist in his plans, but So-won was confident she could crack it—if she had enough time.
She frowned at the screen. “Thirty minutes? Maybe an hour? It’s not an exact science.” Her tone was sharp, and her gaze kept drifting back to the corpses of her fellow coders.
He moved back to the security station. Most of the screens were blank now, but the assault forces had missed a few of the less obvious cameras. They were being attacked by Americans, probably Special Forces. How had they found him so quickly?
Pak. That rat bastard must have defected and sold his soul to the United States.
He returned to So-won’s side. “Put the program on automatic. It’s time to go.”