“Logical enough, I suppose.”
Yoon moved with faint, ghostly steps over the white-tiled floor, halting next to an autoclave several feet from where Park sat at the computer. Like the other appliances throughout the labs, the autoclave was a primitive machine, Soviet built some thirty years ago. Its whine filled the air when Yoon powered it on. Not especially loud, but loud enough. Yoon glanced toward the locked hallway door, then joined Dr. Park.
“You have news?” Park asked softly beneath the autoclave’s whine. He didn’t know if General Moon had installed listening devices throughout the labs, but it was logical to assume so.
Yoon leaned against the lab table and nodded. Glare from the computer screen illuminated his boyish face, which wore an equally boyish look of anticipation. “I have received word. The American’s should be arriving in the next seventy-two hours. Weather conditions should be favorable for their parachute drop.”
Park released a heavy breath. “I see.”
“Your daughter will be with them, doctor.”
Jin-Seo. Park wondered what she looked like today. She would be a woman now, not the small child you once beat upon. Guilt flooded his conscience, as it always did when he thought about the estranged daughter who had fled from him so many years before. I can never atone for my actions, no matter how I may try. And yet, I must try.
“It is all up to fate now,” Park said.
“We must remain confident. This is the only solution.”
“And we will solve the problem. But you, Yoon, must be prepared to sacrifice all.”
“We will make it out alive, doctor. You must believe.”
“Is that all you can think of? Defecting and starting a new life in America?”
“You must admit, it is wonderful incentive.”
“But the object is destroying this lab and all of the viruses within it. Period. Whether we survive or not is incidental. I, for one, am prepared to die destroying this virus.”
After a ruminative pause, Yoon said, “As am I, doctor.”
“You had best be. Only after this lab is destroyed should you contemplate America.”
“Yes, doctor.”
But Dr. Park was already contemplating America himself. It could happen; you might escape afterward. In the company of your daughter.
Would Jin-Seo allow him back into her life? Might he live out his days in America, conducting research for a renowned university or the government? At age fifty-six he hardly qualified as a young man, but he had many productive years ahead if he survived. Finally, you might earn true respect from worthy peers. And perhaps even have a family once again. He had dreamed it so many times since he’d found sobriety, three years after his wife had died while defecting with Jin-Seo. All Park knew of his daughter’s life in America was that she’d been adopted by a family of South Korean descent, attended Yale, and eventually become an operative for the CIA. The two had much to catch up on, if she allowed him back into his life.
Don’t be a fool. Not now, of all times. As rewarding and comfortable as a new life in America sounded, Park knew his odds of making it were low. He felt some measure of comfort in the thought that he might see her one last time.
Even if he did escape, there were no guarantees his daughter would forgive and accept him. Would you forgive your father if he’d brutalized you in such fashion?
Alcohol provided no excuse for the crimes he’d committed. Drink controlled his actions for many years, yet he bore the burden of blame. One sip of liquor didn’t turn me into a madman. That occurred over a period of years. I allowed it to happen. And I enjoyed the process. That was the problem with drinking: it was comforting, an escape, and any fool could take it up. But most fools cannot give it up. That is one achievement you can be proud of.
In the end, however, he doubted his sobriety and remorse would matter to Jin-Seo. It was a fanciful notion at best. He needed to concentrate on what mattered most at the moment: destroying the lab and all viruses within. This could be done; it would be done, for it was in his capacity to do so.
Dr. Park never shied from any task he could perform, though he knew success was never guaranteed, not in science and certainly not in interpersonal relations. When the emotions of others were involved, anything might happen. You will try. It is all you can do.
“Prepare to work late nights this week, Yoon. I’ll meet you in the lab at observation in two hours. Have your daily reports on the test subjects ready by then.”
“And there we wait?”
Dr. Park turned his attention back to the computer screen. “You have your instructions. Power off the autoclave on your way out.”
* * *
“Stand at ease, Colonel.”
Colonel Ryung Jung assumed the position before General Moon’s desk, the numerous medals festooning his service jacket clanking a bit in the process. Already he did not like the tone of this meeting.
Like all ranking military leaders of unquestionable loyalty, General Moon worked from sunup until long into the night. Moon often summoned Jung to his office late in the evening for scotch and a cigar, and the two would reminisce of old times in the infantry, when Jung had served as a platoon commander in Moon’s infantry company. Fine times, those were. A summer idyll compared to our present work.
Moon had specifically requested that Jung be assigned commander of the special reaction force stationed in the closest town, as well as the security force at the research complex. Jung did not enjoy the posting but appreciated how such a vital and trusted position could advance his career. The meeting might regard any aspect of security around the complex, but when standing before General Moon’s desk as opposed to sitting, he couldn’t help but wonder if his career was about to end.
“I have received excellent news,” Moon said. “The American CIA team will likely infiltrate sometime in the next seventy-two hours via high-altitude parachute drop.”
Jung thought of Yoon, the CIA’s informant. A purblind fool, thinking he could outwit General Moon. The man has security measures built into his security measures. “I’ll mobilize the men in town and bring in an extra squad, and I will change the security codes immediately. My troops will be ready for them, general. The Americans will be killed before they pass into the lab areas.”
Moon unleashed a smile only Jung and a few others had ever seen. “While I commend your zeal, colonel, I have a different plan of defense in mind.”
Oh? Jung almost made the mistake of uttering it. Instead he kept silent and waited to hear the general’s reaction plan.
“That they will not be permitted to destroy our facility is a given, to be prevented at all costs. However, station only token resistance on the upper levels and do not change the security codes. They will be carrying a small thermonuclear device to accomplish their mission. Allow them to think they have taken us by surprise. Let them penetrate deep into the facility, then close off all avenues of escape. Liquidate them only after they are trapped. I will have that device, colonel, again at all costs.”
The timing couldn’t have been worse; Jung’s mistress had just arrived from Pyongyang. No doubt she lay wet and willing in his bed even as they spoke. It will have to wait until this is over. But at least then we will have reason to celebrate. And he had to admit the general proposed a pragmatic plan, tactically sound. Jung had many troops in his command, all tough and fanatically loyal, but the CIA would send a small, elite force. If engaged with overwhelming resistance too early, they might abort the mission and attempt to escape with the nuclear device.
“You shall indeed, general. I will ready the men to carry out your plan.”
“Excellent. Your name will be prominent in my report to the Supreme Leader.”
“Thank you, general.” Colonel Jung hesitated.
“What is it colonel?”
“General, shouldn’t we inform the high command of our plans?”
&n
bsp; Moon’s face hardened, irritated that he needed to explain himself. “And risk them shutting down the whole operation or moving additional troops and alerting the Americans? No, we have the situation well in hand. Unless, you feel your troops aren’t up to the task?”
Colonel Jung tensed at the slight. “We will ensure the Americans don’t leave here alive, sir.”
“See to it colonel, you are dismissed.”
Relieved, Colonel Jung walked from Moon’s office after being dismissed. His previous apprehension had vanished. He would rather tangle with a team of CIA commandos than General Moon, on any day of the week. He quickened his pace down the ebony-paneled hallway and entered the elevator, already planning where he would station his men.
10
Max, West, Delorn, and Koontz piled out of a white van belonging to the Air Force, before a small annex building attached to a massive hangar. They wouldn’t be returning to the barracks and had brought all of their combat gear and personal effects with them. The van drove off with their gear to the departure point, likely the open hangar bay.
Training night two consisted of a practice HAHO—High Altitude High Opening—jump from a C-17 Globemaster at a height of 38,000 feet. A HAHO jumper immediately opened his chute to make a controlled descent, which allowed travel to roughly fifty kilometers. HAHO jumpers wore insulated underwear to protect themselves from bitter cold, as well as oxygen masks with on-demand regulators similar to those used in scuba diving. Jumpers stowed most of their combat gear in rucksacks that hung down between their legs.
Heinz, the most experienced HAHO jumper, led the team, as he would during the mission jump. Alas, the exercise did not go according to plan. Most of the team had several HAHO jumps to their credit—Max had done about a dozen combat insertions over the years—but Delorn and Koontz had only jumped once previously since getting initially qualified, and were out practice. Both missed landing on the target, the roof of an abandoned building adjacent to an army gunnery range: Koontz by about fifty feet and Delorn by almost a quarter mile.
They’d only traveled about thirty kilometers overland from jump to target. Max figured they would be covering even more ground on the mission. He was third out of the plane, right after Heinz and Juno.
Heinz tracked the jumpers’ altitudes and locations via a disposable handheld computer. And boy did he throw a shit-fit on the way down. Heinz furiously cursed Delorn after the jump, and Max laid into him as well. One man off by that far could easily give them away. If that happened, Max could only hope for a quick death. God only knew what sort of barbaric tortures the North Koreans might use on them.
Max led them into the annex building: a pilots’ briefing room with projector screen, a sloping floor, and theater seating for about fifty men. Juno stood before the screen talking to Heinz and Zuckerberg, both seated in the front row. Everyone had donned black combat suits for the mission.
“You’re three minutes late, Max. Again,” Juno said.
Max shrugged as he walked down the aisle to join them. “Don’t burn me; I wasn’t driving the van.”
“Perhaps he got sidetracked,” Zuckerberg said. “I hear there’s a sale on adult diapers at the PX.” No one outright laughed, though Max detected a slight chuckle from behind, probably Delorn.
“The only thing older than me in this room are your jokes, Zuckerberg,” Max said. West and Delorn found it amusing, though Max didn’t care how many people laughed at his comeback. “I hope you’re still able to do shit like this when you’re my age. I don’t see a standup comedy career in your future.”
“Don’t even—”
Max cut her off with a wave of his hand. “We’re through sparring for the moment. Sharpen your tongue and meet me after the mission. Right now, we have work to do.”
“You should get a harpy tattooed on your ass, Trish,” Delorn said.
“Who says I don’t? Not that you’ll ever see.”
“Enough,” Heinz interjected. “As Ahlgren said, we have work to do.”
“Now that’s the sort of professionalism I’m accustomed to.” Max took a seat next to Heinz, using him as a human shield from Zuckerberg. Max’s three traveling companions took seats to his right.
“Very well. Let’s get to it.” Juno powered on a slide projector; the movie screen lit to white blankness. “You’ve already seen what we’ll be up against. The primary objective of this mission is to destroy the North Korean research facility and all of the virus within. Secondary objective is the rescue of two men, the geniuses responsible for engineering the virus: Dr. Kwang-Soo Park and his research assistant, Kyung-Seok Yoon, our inside contact.”
She clicked her remote and advanced to the first slide on the projector. On the big screen a grainy photo of a man wearing thick horn-rimmed spectacles appeared. He wore a severe look on his lined face. From his disheveled white hair, Max estimated him as somewhere in his fifties. “This is Dr. Park. Take a moment to memorize his features.”
“He’s pretty distinctive,” West observed.
“Very.” Juno advanced to a photo of Park’s assistant, Yoon, shaggy haired and smiling as he stood over a glass box full of white testing rats. He must enjoy his work. Or did enjoy it, before the virus.
After confirming that everyone had gotten a good look at their secondary objectives, Juno clicked to the next slide: a somewhat-detailed map of North Korea. Using a laser pointer, she circled a tiny area deep in enemy territory. “The facility is located here, just below the summit of a peak in the Hamgyong Range, about forty kilometers northwest of Hamhung.” She circled Hamhung, a town on the coast of the Sea of Japan. “The closest town to the facility is Jangjin, a few kilometers to the west. A quick reaction security force, that we estimate to be company sized, is stationed there on call, to serve the facility. Troops deploying from Jangjin can be at the complex in under twenty minutes.”
“Swell,” Delorn said.
Max asked, “How many troops in the facility?”
“About half as many, approximately fifty men, likely divided into rotating shifts. The director of the facility, General Moon, is quite security conscious. The fewer who know what goes on there, the better.” She advanced the projector, and a stocky man in his late forties appeared. Max might have dismissed him as a typical high-ranking popinjay, with his immaculate uniform and broad chest weighed down with medals, but for the white line of a knife scar on the right side of his face. He’s blooded and dangerous, without a doubt.
Juno continued, “Unfortunately, we have precious little photo reconnaissance of the facility.” She brought up a crisp satellite image on screen, yet the detail revealed little, just the roof of a rectangular building at the edge of a cliff, surrounded by a few smaller nondescript structures.
“Is that a swimming pool on the roof?” Zuckerberg asked.
Juno nodded. “Yes. We’re supposed to think it’s some sort of mountain retreat for overworked party officials. But if you look closely you’ll see that it’s empty, and that the only roof access is via a ladder on this side of the building.”
“Brilliant cover,” Delorn said.
Max ignored his sarcasm. “How about floor plans?” He figured, if they’d received smuggled video of the zombies, then perhaps Yoon had likewise provided a layout of the place.
“Nothing detailed, I’m afraid” Juno said. “But we do know the basic layout of the complex. The building’s ground level is something of a showplace to impress party officials and other dignitaries; the middle floors contain offices for facility administrative staff, the upper floors contain the offices and living quarters of General Moon and his XO, Colonel Ryung Jung, along with several other plush suites for visiting officials.
“The uppermost subterranean level is the main laboratory facility, situated approximately two hundred feet below ground level. Again, it is a mostly a showplace, the lab the world sees. According to Yoon, access from the sur
face is only possible via the elevator in the ground-floor lobby, but he believes there may be another hidden elevator, perhaps a direct access from General Moon’s quarters.
“From what I understand, the complex is dug deeper into the mountain at each descending floor; viewed in profile they would appear something like a flight of stairs. There are elevators and stairwells accessing the descending floors. Below the main lab are the logistics and personnel floors, and then the biogenetic research levels.
“Drs. Park and Yoon conduct most of their research on the fourth level, which is devoted to testing, observation, surgery, et cetera. Below this is the lowest level—confinement.
“All doors and elevators feature locks that may be opened only by numeric code or a magnetic card, all of which are changed every three days. Our informant has supplied the current codes for both the upper and lower levels.” She stepped down from the stage and handed Zuckerberg a short stack of cards with the codes written on them, which were then passed around so the team could memorize them after the briefing.
“Our informant isn’t completely useless, anyway,” West said.
Juno fixed him with a deadpan stare above her scowl. “Considering his circumstances, he is a wealth of information. In fact, a new discovery came to light in his last transmission. Some of the human test subjects have died from the virus; I suppose their bodies couldn’t handle it. None of those remaining have been killed, however, as the survivors are critical to their research. However, animal test subjects have been killed with injuries to the head, and Yoon believes the infected humans may be executed in the same manner.”
“Best news I’ve heard all day,” Max said.
“Maybe we don’t need your alleged expertise after all,” Zuckerberg said.
Max ignored her.
Heinz asked the question on all of their minds: “What is our method of destruction?”
“A miniature nuclear weapon roughly the size of a suitcase, to be placed on the confinement level of the facility to maximize damage and minimize fallout. Only three people will have the codes and key to arm the weapon: myself, Heinz, and Koontz. As a further failsafe, it will require a second biometric confirmation from any other team member to initiate the weapon timer.”
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