by Trevor Scott
“We have no car,” Pam said.
“Where are the rest of your people?”
“A couple with Kim, and the rest are up at the DMZ today working with the advance team for the six-party talks.”
“What about local law enforcement?” Lori asked.
“Go,” Jake demanded to Pam. “Take Lori on foot to the closest subway.”
Lori looked concerned. “What about you?”
“We need to split up.” He reached out his hand to Pam and said, “Give me your phone. If they’re tracking it, they’ll think we’re still here.”
“You’re not staying here,” Pam said.
“No. You two go to the subway and I’ll hike off in the other direction.”
“All right. There’s a back exit.”
The three of them hurried out the door and locked the place tight. After a couple of blocks, they all stopped when they heard a large crash. Jake guessed they had crashed through the front gate, which would set off alarms at the station headquarters.
“Go on,” Jake said. “I’ll call Kim and tell him we’re out of the place so he doesn’t try to mount a rescue.”
“Good idea,” Pam said. She took Lori by the hand and started off.
But Lori pulled up and said, “When will we meet up again, Jake?”
He had no good answer for her. So he lied. “I’ll find you at the DMZ meeting.”
Lori hugged Jake and then reluctantly pulled away. The two women then ran toward the subway.
Jake hesitated, making sure they escaped, and then he simply wandered casually in the opposite direction, picking up the subway on another line within a mile.
On the train Jake got onto his phone, punched in his encryption code and checked his e-mail. He had only a couple messages. One was a forwarded message from his business e-mail, the one used by potential clients to hire his services. But this wasn’t a client. It was from Toni’s sister Francesca. Over the years he had only met the woman a couple of times. She was Toni’s older sister. Divorced with no children. For obvious reasons most Agency officers kept their family uninformed and obscure to the point of near non-existence while the officers were active operatives. Francesca’s message was short: “We need to talk.” He guessed she was right, but he wanted to do that in person.
He skipped to a message for penis enhancement, the sick sense of humor from the CIA Director Kurt Jenkins. The Agency had traced the money flowing through a holding company in the Caymans to the Slavs. The holding company was owned principally by a K-Street Lobbying firm with many clients—chief among them were companies from Communist countries like China, Russia, Vietnam, and. . .North Korea. But they also worked with legitimate companies from Japan and South Korea. The attached file had a brief bio of the principal lobbyists from the firm, including head and shoulder images. Jake placed all of their backgrounds to memory, dismissing a number of them as unlikely.
The subway made it to Seoul Station, the main terminal in the city, so Jake got off and wandered into the great hall, where he could catch a train to anywhere in the country. He would stop occasionally and change direction to make sure he didn’t have a tail. But he didn’t.
He sat with a view of the entire main station hall and took his phone out again. The lobbying firm had one primary client in South Korea, Gang-Ho Industries, a major worldwide high tech firm. But they also owned everything from a chain of hotels and grocery stores in Korea, along with a Korean professional baseball team from Seoul. Now it was starting to come together for Jake. He wondered if the Korean company knew this lobbying firm also did business with the North Korean government. Why the American government allowed such associations was beyond Jake’s comprehension. How in the hell could anyone dress up a pig like that, slap on the make-up, and pretend that the American congress should forget all about torture rooms, starving its own citizens, and threatening to nuke America?
He opened his backpack and found a blue-tooth ear piece that would fit inside his ear and allow him to communicate with his next call. Jake punched in a number from memory and waited.
His contact at the NSA, an Air Force colonel who had started off as an enlisted airman and once worked for Jake years ago. Jake had helped get the man into the officer corps.
“Hey, Jake,” the colonel said. “What the hell are you doing in Singapore?”
Jake smiled. Glad to see he could still hide from the most technologically advanced organization on Earth. “You know me. I like some Singapore street food.”
“Right. I’m right there with ya. Let me guess, you need a current location on our friends in Seoul?”
“You are correct.”
“Hang on.”
Jake could hear some typing in the background.
“Okay,” the colonel said. “When they left the safe house, they went back to their old location. I just texted that to you. But it’s a long ways from Singapore.”
“Right. I guess I’ll have to hurry. Hey, thanks a lot for your help.”
“No problem. Although I’m not doing it just for you, as you can probably guess.”
“I’m guessing a certain Agency director told you to keep him informed.”
“If that’s a problem, Jake, I can give up all hope of that first star and become a ROAD warrior.”
“You would never be retired on active duty, my friend,” Jake declared. “All right. I’m gonna go over for a look see. Could you text me if the men are on the move?”
“Sure thing,” the colonel said. “Be careful.”
“Will do.” Jake cut off the call and then looked at his phone, finding the text with the address. He mapped it out and then glanced up at the main subway map to find the best line to get there. He considered asking Kim for help, but dismissed that. This was personal. They wanted him and he would make damn sure they got just him.
Less than an hour later and Jake was back up on street level casually observing the target building as he walked the Dongdaemun district of Seoul, a sprawling area of row houses, businesses and the Dongdaemun Market, a lesser-known shopping area for non-Koreans.
Jake knew he had no way of blending in here. He stood out like a Swede in Botswana. His only camo was the darkness of a cloudy winter night. In fact, based on the damp chill in the air, Jake guessed snow would fall soon. He felt the gun down his butt crack as he walked and his right hand grasped the Glock in his right front jacket pocket.
Toni, he thought. These men had killed his good friend. They would pay for that.
The target building was a three story structure with an alley on one side and a tiny KIA dealership on the other. There was probably an alley entrance as well, which would make it almost impossible to breech on his own. What he really needed was about an eight-man tactical team. But, as he wandered around the block to check for surveillance cameras or sentries, he realized the place had neither. No, this was a no-frills safe house the North Koreans probably set up as a residence for its intel officers. Which means that everyone he saw would be potentially armed and dangerous, if not much better fed then those left behind to the north of the DMZ.
Jake considered taking out one of the guns, but decided on a different approach.
First checking the alley entrance, he realized his only option was the front door. Great.
Instead, he waited across the street among some trees as he considered his other options. His past flashed through his mind as he thought about his time with Toni Contardo. What would he give to have her here with him now? He couldn’t quantify that prospect. Or what about his old friends Kurt Lamar, or Franz Martini, or Anna? They had all died because of him. And what of those he had killed, the number he could not give to Lori? For the first time in his life he truly felt alone in this world. Fuck it! You can’t live forever, Jake, he thought.
He crossed the street and entered the first door at ground level. He had no idea if his targets were on the first, second or third floor apartments. Tactically speaking, it wouldn’t be the first floor. Too vulnerable to easy a
ttack.
Jake slowly crept up the marble stairs to the second level. Pretty arrogant not having a guard posted. Assuming he was at the right place.
As the stairway rounded to the next level, Jake could see the landing in front of the tall wooden door. He quietly stepped up and could hear someone talking Korean. Then he heard laughter, followed by two men speaking. Not Korean, but English with accents. The Slavs.
He was about to pull out both guns and go in shooting, when the door on the third floor slammed. Now he was stuck. He couldn’t go down or up.
Slamming his body against the wall, he waited as someone came down the stairs quickly. As the man rounded the corner, Jake slashed his right arm out in a clothesline, catching the Korean man in the throat and knocking him back onto the stairs trying to catch his breath. Then Jake kicked the man in the face, smacking the back of his head against the solid stairs and knocking the guy out.
Jake hoped nobody had heard it. Even more so, he hoped like hell this guy wasn’t just some South Korean going out for a drink. Checking over the man’s body, Jake found a 9mm Sig tucked under his left arm in a leather holster. Good. He took the man’s gun and the extra magazines. Then he checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber. Yep. This guy would have killed him. Jake put the man’s gun and magazines into his backpack and considered his options again.
He had no real choice. Pulling out both guns, he took a deep breath and lined himself up in front of the door.
With one smooth motion, he aimed his guns and shoved his right foot into the door just outside the handle. The door gave but didn’t fly inward. He kicked it again and this time it gave way and flew in. But the time lapse had given the men inside time to react.
The first to shoot was someone inside the room.
Jake crouched against the door frame and returned fire with his 9mm Glock, firing a number of shots. He lost track of how many.
More shots cracked the edge of the door frame.
He looked quickly and back again. Then again with his gun, shooting more times than he remembered. A man fell, hitting the floor hard.
The slide came back on his gun, so he shoved that one into the holster at his back and switched the other gun to his right hand.
Suddenly a shot rang out from the stairs behind him, hitting the wall next to his head. Jake twisted and shot a number of times. Damn it. He only had only a few shots left without reloading. Finding another magazine in his right jacket pocket, Jake waited. Normally he remembered his shot count, but he was distracted.
When the man put his gun around the corner up the stairs, Jake was waiting for him. He shot once and hit the gun, knocking it to the floor. As the guy reached for the gun, Jake took a couple more shots, the slide jacked back, and the man’s arm took a hit at the elbow. He screamed in pain.
Replacing the full magazine with the empty one, Jake sent a round into the chamber.
Time to go, Jake.
Just as he was about to escape down the stairs, a voice echoed out to him. “Is that you, Jake?”
He recalled the voice from when he was stuck in that barrel of foul water with the rat floating about his mouth in the DC warehouse.
“Why did you have to kill my friend?” Jake yelled, and then looked up the stairway, knowing the guy he had shot still had one good arm.
“You killed my friend in Montana,” the Slav said. “And now you’ve killed at least one of my Korean friends. We must be even by now.”
Jake needed to push this forward. Someone would have heard the shots and called the police. “What do you want?”
“That’s easy, Jake. Either the encryption code or the actual professor. Give one of those to me and you can live.”
Laughing, Jake said, “Wonderful. Go fuck yourself.”
Leave to fight another day, Jake. The Slavs now knew they could be found, so they would have to constantly look over their shoulders for him.
“There’s no need to be uncivilized,” the Slav said.
In the distance Jake could hear sirens heading in his direction. He had no choice but to run. Without diplomatic standing, he couldn’t be in South Korea with guns. And he sure as hell couldn’t be caught shooting more Koreans.
Time to go. As he rushed across the door, more shots were fired, followed by yelling from the Slavs to not kill Jake.
He took the stairs two at a time, his gun out in case one of the men had snuck out the back door to try to flank him. Once he got out to the street, the sirens got much louder. He shoved the gun into his pocket and casually walked toward the nearby subway entrance.
As he started down the stairs, he looked back and saw a number of men pile out of the not-so-safe house. They found Jake in their vision and then hurried down the street toward him.
Rushing down into the subway, Jake hoped to hear a train moving in toward him. But no such luck.
There were only two directions to go—out toward the end of the line, or toward Seoul Station, where he could again take a train anywhere in the country. The choice was easy. He didn’t want to end up at the end of the line.
Just as he was getting to the platform, his cell phone buzzed. He checked the message as he walked at a determined pace. It was from the NSA, saying the men were on the move. No shit!
For this time of night, early evening, the platform was unusually crowded. But as he could hear the train begin to approach, Jake made his way to the very end of the platform. If the men made it down the stairs, they would have to get on the train farther down.
A stiff puff of air preceded the train, the light shining toward him as it slowed. Jake could see the men come around the corner looking for him. They broke off into a couple of groups, the Koreans together and the two Slavs side by side. They pretended not to see Jake, but they had.
Passengers started streaming onto the train, so Jake did so as well, taking a seat at the very front of the train. He took off his backpack and found the 9mm Sig he had taken from one of the Koreans. Jake had two spare magazines with 16 rounds each, along with the one already loaded in the handle. He discreetly changed out the gun in his right jacket pocket with more firepower, but he still reloaded his Glocks with full magazines, putting one at his back holster again and the other into a pocket inside his jacket. Then he zipped up his bag and waited, his hand grasping the Sig as he watched the cars behind his.
He knew they would move toward him. In one sense he was trapped. But he still had options.
The train slowed and came to a stop at the next station.
Jake looked up at the subway map and smiled when he thought of his plan. He had them right where he wanted them.
29
Pam Suh paced back and forth in her office at the American Embassy in Seoul. She had not heard from Jake Adams since they left him at the safe house earlier in the evening.
Congresswoman Lori Freeman sat on a leather sofa against one wall, her right foot tapping nervously and her hands clasped across her lap as if in church praying.
Kim entered the office, his phone in his right hand. “We might have found him,” Kim said. “Or at least where he was.”
Pam stopped. “Where?”
“Local police responded to a shooting in Dongdaemun,” he said. “One dead on the scene and two in custody. No IDs. All Korean.”
Pam took in the information and wondered if it really mattered in the grand scheme. Her job now was to protect the congresswoman until she could get her to the DMZ meeting. As far as she was concerned, Adams would have to be on his own. The Agency couldn’t have any association with a private citizen killing people in South Korea—even though someone at Langley had authorized his trip to the country. Since the director, Kurt Jenkins, knew about Jake’s presence in country, that was at least tacit agreement with his mission.
Lori stood up and said, “Where is Jake now?”
Kim shrugged. “No way of knowing.”
“He has a contact at the NSA feeding him information,” Pam said. “See if you can find out who that
is.”
Nodding, Kim left as fast as he’d come.
“Can’t you do anything to help him?” Lori asked.
“You’re our mission,” Pam explained. “Jake was sent here by Toni to keep track of you and to try to find out who was trying to get the technology from that professor.”
Lori wrapped herself with her arms. “But that should also be your mission. If that technology gets into the hands of the North Koreans, it will be worse than their development of nukes.”
Pam was confused. “I haven’t even been briefed on the technology. It’s not something I need to worry about at my level. You know about the technology?”
“I was with Jake and the professor in Montana,” Lori muttered. “The professor gave me a brief understanding. But not the details. I couldn’t possibly be of any help to anyone.”
Maybe not, maybe so, Pam thought. “Did anyone see you in Montana?”
“You mean bad guys?” Lori shook her head no. Then she looked uncertain.
“What?” the station chief asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that two men pretending to be FBI agents visited my mother looking for me. Jake thought they were probably the Slavs who had kidnapped and tortured him in DC.”
“And probably killed Toni,” Pam surmised. “So they might think you have the technology or know how to get it.”
“Like I said, I don’t understand the technology. I’m a lawyer by trade.”
Pam’s phone buzzed and she looked at the caller. It was the CIA Director, Kurt Jenkins. “Yes, sir.” She listened carefully, her eyes shifting toward the congresswoman for a moment. After listening to what the director wanted, she simply said, “Yes, sir,” again and then clicked off.
“Was that about Jake?” Lori asked.
“It was the director, Kurt Jenkins,” Pam said. “He has history with Jake. Although Toni officially sent Jake here, the director wants us to only help him in the background. We can’t officially be involved. Somehow the deaths of those two Korean men at your hotel in Gyeongju got back to him. Worse yet, it went through the secret service chain all the way to the president. Since he’s staking his presidency on these six-party talks, he wants nothing to get in the way of that. He’s directed our Agency to stand down on everything except the security of our congressional delegation. We can only give technical support.” She hoped that would be enough.