Lethal Force

by Trevor Scott

  “Mister Adams,” the Korean man said, extending his hand. “I’m Kim Chin-Hwa.”

  Jake shook the man’s hand, his grip much stronger than expected, considering the man’s stature. “Chin Hwa?”

  “You can call me Kim,” he said.

  Sizing up the guy, Jake said, “How long have you been with the Agency in Seoul?”

  The Korean’s lips tightened, as if he wanted to say something immediately, but he was holding back to form his words clearly. “Did I say I was with the Agency?”

  Shaking his head and letting out a breath of air through his nostrils, Jake walked out the front door toward the parking lot and felt the shorter man trying to keep up with his pace.

  “Mister Adams,” he said.

  Jake continued walking until he reached the passenger side of a black Hyundai sedan. Then he turned to the Korean with a smile.

  “How do you know this is my car?” Kim asked.

  Scanning his eyes across the small parking lot, there were only half a dozen private passenger cars. The rest were military trucks and cars. “The cars along the back side are from Air Force personnel,” Jake said. “This is the only private-looking vehicle in the lot. The Agency always tries to blend in to the host country. Is this not your car?”

  Kim smiled and clicked the doors open.

  Jake threw his backpack into the back seat and got into the front.

  Settling in behind the wheel, Kim said, “They told me you could be difficult.”

  “They?”

  “The station chief in Seoul.”

  “Your boss.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kim turned over the car and headed toward the front gate.

  After a long silence, just as they passed through the main gate toward the expressway, Jake finally said, “Will you be babysitting me while I’m here?”

  “Do you need a babysitter?”

  “I usually work alone,” Jake said, but that wasn’t entirely true. “So I don’t really need someone watching my every move.”

  Kim picked up speed and ran through a yellow light just outside of the base.

  “I have my orders,” Kim said.

  “How well known are you in Korea?” Jake wanted to know.

  “Not well. I just got here two months ago.”

  “From?”

  Kim hesitated. “I suppose if you wanted to, you could find out on your own. I understand you are a good friend of Kurt Jenkins.” He let that stand, as if waiting for Jake to respond. When Jake didn’t bite, Kim continued, “I was in China for three years. Before that, Singapore. Prior to that I worked at Fort Meade.”

  “Air Force or Army linguist?” Jake asked.

  “Air Force,” Kim said. “Ten years before the Agency recruited me.”

  “Hmm. We have a similar background.”

  “But you were mostly tactical human intelligence,” Kim said. “I was mostly stuck in a bunker listening to North Korean transmissions.”

  The Korean turned and picked up speed as he entered the onramp to the freeway.

  Thinking it over, Jake considered he might be better off keeping Kim close to him. He might pick up on the subtle differences between the South Korean speakers and their cousins to the North.

  “Where are we heading?” Jake asked.

  “Seoul.” Kim turned into the fast lane and picked up speed, passing slower cars and buses. “The station chief needs to brief you tonight. We have you booked on a flight to Gyeongju in the morning. The American delegation will fly in on a private jet tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Isn’t that city way out in the east?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why Gyeongju?”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Is there any other way?”

  Kim hesitated, his eyes shifting toward Jake and then back to the road. “Dog and pony show. I understand the chair of the house intelligence committee likes the golf course there. The South Korean delegation will have them tour Bulguksa Temple, the Seokguram Grotto and the tombs.”

  “What’s the real purpose of the meeting?” Jake asked.

  “That’s above my pay-grade, sir.”

  “If you don’t start calling me Jake, I might have to hurt you.”

  “In Korea we respect our elders,” Kim said with a slight smile.

  “Ouch. But in this business if anyone hears you using deference to me, and they assume I’m the boss. The target.”

  “Understood. Jake it is.”

  They sat in silence for a long while, with Jake watching the tall apartment buildings out his window. He guessed that people would live this far out of Seoul and commute in by train. Although he had slept quite a bit on the plane ride, Jake was still feeling somewhat lagged. Perhaps the travel from South America and Montana was starting to catch up with him. Either that or he really was starting to get too old for this crap.

  As they reached the southern edge of Seoul, which was really hard to discern since the sprawl from Osan seemed to be continuous, the sun was setting over Incheon to the west.

  “Tell me about the station chief,” Jake said, more of a demand than a request.

  Kim’s eyes shifted again. “She’s a good leader.”

  “Demanding?”

  “Is there any other kind of Korean woman?” Kim laughed at himself.

  “I don’t know. I guess I haven’t known that many.” Jake thought about it and continued, “What’s her background?”

  “Stanford undergrad in languages by age twenty. Graduate degree from Harvard by twenty-two. Fluent in Korean, Mandarin and French. Has been with the Agency for nearly twenty years.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Pam Suh. Her mother was a French teacher and her father a cardiologist in Davis, California.”

  Jake never crossed paths with her, but that wasn’t unusual, since he had been out of the Agency for so long. “Do you know where she has served?”

  “She started here in Seoul for her first assignment. Then Paris, Hong Kong, Vietnam, Langley, and then back here. Of course she had special assignments all over the place.”

  Jake could relate. “Where does she want to meet?”

  “She’ll meet you at your hotel in the Myeongdong area at eight tonight. Dinner in the main hotel restaurant.”

  Checking his watch, that was just a little over two hours. In the next few minutes they crossed the Hangang River that split the city in two, and then exited the freeway and wound through the busy city streets lined with the major hotel chains. Kim pulled into the entrance to a huge hotel complex nearly a block wide and stopped at the curb in front. Over the years, Jake had stayed at a number of Lotte hotels. They were all nice and this one looked like no exception. Someone at the Agency was treating Jake like royalty.

  “What name did you use for my reservation here?” Jake asked.

  “Johann Konrad, your Austrian persona,” Kim said. “You do have that passport with you.”

  A door man approached to open Jake’s door, but he waved the man off.

  Yeah, Jake had that passport, as well as a couple of others, along with driver’s licenses to accompany the passports from the U.S., Canada and Austria. “Are you coming by with your boss tonight?”

  “No,” Kim said. “But I’ll pick you up right here in the morning at five.”

  Jake lifted his chin and thanked Kim for the ride. Then he got out, retrieved his backpack from the back seat, and slung it over his right shoulder. As he walked toward the front desk, he considered his appearance and figured the Koreans were used to Americans and Europeans showing up from long flights looking like crap. But he was without major luggage, so he’d mildly complain to those at the front desk that the airline had lost his bag. If he complained too loudly, the polite Koreans would do everything in their power to help him find luggage that didn’t exist on a flight he had never taken.

  After checking in, Jake got to his room and plopped down onto his bed for a few minutes, thinking about what had happened in the past few days. He wond
ered how Professor Tramil was doing right now up at his cabin in Montana. Then he tried to call his CIA contact, Toni Contardo, to get a little more insight as to what he was to do this week. Unfortunately, she wasn’t picking up on her private cell phone. Not unusually for her. She was almost impossible to contact. He considered calling Kurt Jenkins, but he wasn’t sure that was needed. After all, he just wanted some insight. And that was pretty self-evident. The Agency needed some outside security. Someone unknown. But with that whole testifying before the house committee recently, and his video going viral, he was feeling way too exposed.

  He got up and went to the bathroom, glancing at himself in the mirror. Jesus, his hair had gotten long. It was curling up over his collar, and the normally dark locks were speckled with nearly as much gray. He also hadn’t shaved in days, the stubble thick enough to sandblast the hull of a battleship. No wonder Kim thought he was an old man. Time to change his appearance.

  Within fifteen minutes, using his electric trimmer, he had cut all of his hair off and then shaved his beard into a short goatee. Satisfied nobody would tie him to that video, he jumped into the shower and turned the water to near scalding, letting the jet pulse stream pound his muscles. Then he put on his only clean clothes, shoved the rest into a plastic bag to turn in downstairs to be washed, and was about to head out the door, but stopped. He wasn’t thinking straight. He pulled out the two guns Toni had given him, and checked the magazines and chambers. Toni had given him full magazines, along with thin slip-free holsters that would fit inside his belt and not show the outline of the gun. He shoved one down his butt crack and covered it with his button-up long-sleeve plaid shirt. There. Now he felt human.

  Once he dropped off his laundry, Jake lingered outside the main restaurant, waiting for his contact to enter. He guessed she would be late. A power play. And he was right. Fifteen minutes after eight p.m. he saw what had to be the station chief, Pam Suh. What Kim had failed to mention to him was the fact that Pam Suh could have passed for nearly any other Korean woman walking the streets of Seoul, despite her half-French ancestry. Her only giveaway was the fact that her eyes were not as definitely Asian, but a lot of the wealthy in Korea had taken to cosmetic surgery to alter the edges of their eyes, making them look more western. This made no sense to Jake. The station chief wore a tight red dress that clung to her body like plastic wrap to a sandwich. Her tiny stature was enhanced somewhat with three-inch black heels.

  He followed her into the restaurant like a shadow behind her, his eyes checking her slim body for any sign of a gun. If she was hiding one, he had no idea where.

  Jake caught her off-guard, startling her somewhat as she turned to sit in the corner booth with a view of the front door.

  The two of them shook hands without mentioning names and then took a seat across from each other.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” the station chief said. “Especially after seeing you school that moron from California. Unfortunately he represents my home town.”

  “Well, he’s the personification of the Peter Principle,” Jake explained.

  She laughed and showed off her perfect teeth. Jake guessed her parents had spent a lot of money with the orthodontist.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you with the haircut,” she said. “I liked the longer hair.”

  “Well, I needed to change my look a little after my video went viral.”

  The two of them looked at each other for a moment in silence. Jake wasn’t sure why they were meeting, unless she had some information for him. A waiter came and Jake ordered a beer for himself and a glass of white wine for the station chief.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked her.

  “I haven’t been briefed on that,” she said with some consternation. “I was just told to arrange for your transportation and insertion into the congressional delegation. I understand you will be using your Austrian persona.”

  Jake let out a breath of air through his nostrils. His version of a laugh. If they knew about that persona, he would have to scrap that plan.

  “You have a problem with that?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do. As far as I can tell, there’s no Austrian in the delegation. The obvious choice is to go as myself. After all, my expertise is as a security consultant. I have spoken before government groups in nearly every European country on this subject. But I’m guessing you know this. Let’s not try to design a new mouse trap. Put me on the lecture agenda in Gyeongju and I’ll give them my standard speech.”

  She shrugged. “That works for me.”

  The waiter brought their drinks and Jake took a long swig, pulling a third of it down his throat.

  “Tell me about your man, Kim,” Jake said.

  The Korean woman’s eyes shifted as she delayed with a sip of wine. “What about him?”

  “Can I trust him?”

  “Absolutely,” she said emphatically. “I personally hired him.”

  “Who says I can trust you?” Jake smiled at her.

  She didn’t really look disturbed by that question, since distrust was a natural occurrence in the spy game. “If you can trust my friend, Toni, then you can trust me.”

  Now it was all coming together for Jake. Toni had set him up again.

  “Where did you cross paths with Toni?” he wanted to know.

  “First time was Paris,” she said. “She was station chief in Vienna at the time. I’ve also worked special projects with her. I learned a lot from her.”

  “Hopefully not about me.”

  “Your name came up a few times,” she demurred.

  Great. He drank some more beer. Changing the subject, Jake asked, “If you can’t help me with my so-called mission, then what are we doing here?”

  “Logistics planning.” She explained how Jake would go to Gyeongju, while she would travel to the DMZ as an advance team. The congressional delegation would go to the DMZ in three days for six-party talks, including representatives from the U.S., South Korea, North Korea, Japan, China and Russia.

  “Sounds like you’ll have your hands full at the DMZ,” Jake said seriously.

  “We’ll have help from South Korean National Intelligence Service, along with Army intel and the Japanese.”

  “I’m sure the Russian CVR and FSB will keep you busy,” Jake surmised and then drank down the last of his beer.

  She laughed. “Yeah, but they should be easy to see. I’m more concerned with our cousins to the north.”

  “Don’t forget the Chinese,” Jake reminded her. “I would scrutinize anyone from the media there as well. I’ve heard the Chinese government has planted officers and recruited others as agents.”

  “Kind of like our own media?” She sipped and smiled behind her glass.

  “Well, it’s hard to divest the Communist Party from the government intelligence and the media,” he explained.

  “Are we still talking about ABC, CBS, NBC and nearly every print outlet in America?”

  Jake looked at her seriously, guessing she thought very much like his old friend Toni. “Does it matter?”

  Her eyes now covered him like a warm blanket on a cold night. “I guess I should get going. And you have an early flight.”

  “And I thought our government was going to buy me dinner.”

  “Our government is nearly broke,” she said. “And I understand you can afford it.”

  “Are tax records not sacred?”

  Smiling, she said, “You haven’t paid taxes in America since you left the Agency.”

  “If you’re implying that I haven’t done my fair share for my country, you’re off the mark.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Not at all, Jake. I know all that you’ve done for your country. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  He put his hand onto hers. “I’m messing with ya. Didn’t Toni tell you I at least make attempts at levity?”

  She nodded. “Knowing something is true doesn’t mean I can tell the difference.”

  Time to change the
subject. “One question.” He paused. “Where do you keep your gun?”

  Getting up to leave, she leaned into Jake and said, “Strapped to my inner thigh.” The station chief smiled at him and strut off toward the main entrance, a number of eyes following her smooth sway all the way.

  Jake looked at his empty beer glass and lifted it for the waiter. He decided to get a good meal in before heading back to his room.

  21

  Washington, D.C.

  Deep in the heart of the cesspool of the warehouse district of the nation’s capital, in a decrepit cinder block building with corrugated metal roof and doors and a nearly none-existent heating system, two men without masks loomed menacingly over the figure zip-tied to a metal chair. The woman’s long dark hair, scraggly and wet with sweat and blood, covered her face and the bruises she had gotten in the past twelve hours.

  Alex Yaroslav ran his hands through his own dark hair, revealing the long scar on his jaw line. How much more could this woman take? He had never seen anyone—man or woman—endure such pain. It was as if she liked it. Sure the Agency had trained her for this eventuality. But training alone could not account for her resolve. His friend Danko had tried nearly everything on her. He had punched her, cut her, added chemicals to the cuts. Used electrical prods. He even used a butane torch on the woman’s breasts, nearly burning off her nipples, and still she had not given up the encryption codes to the flash memory card. Her endurance had given him. . .what did the American’s call it? Major wood? Yeah, he wanted to give it to her big-time. But he had his orders. If he and Danko could get the information from her, then, and only then, could they screw the woman. It was their incentive. Their bonus.

  Alex pulled his friend Danko away from the woman and whispered softly, “What do you think, Danko?”

  His friend shook his head. “I don’t know. Nobody can hold out this long. I think we should try to make her water tight.” Danko smiled with that thought.

  “No. You heard our orders.”

  “You are thinking the same thing, Alex.”

  “Maybe. But we could be the next to get strapped to the chair if we don’t follow orders.”