Kill Chain

by J. Robert Kennedy

  64

  Crawford Residence

  Forest Hills, Washington, DC

  “I think I found the upload IP.”

  Jeff’s fingers froze over his keyboard and he turned toward Clarence. “Spoofed?”

  “Oh yeah, but it was too big a transmission to bury on the network they were using.”

  Jeff’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Look.” An image fed to his display. “It was mostly a satellite upload. That narrows the available bandwidth by quite a bit.”

  Jeff paused. “Wait, did you say mostly?”

  Clarence smiled. “I was wondering if you’d pick up on that. A couple of packets of data actually went through a cellular network.”

  Jeff smiled, his head slowly bobbing. “So wherever they are has a satellite uplink and cellular capability.” His smile disappeared. “But why would they risk that? Cellular’s way too easy to trace.”

  “I’m guessing they didn’t think they were connected. Maybe they’re configured to go cellular first then satellite when there’s no connectivity.”

  Vic piped in. “Makes sense. So wherever they are, they thought there was no way they could connect to a cell network, but they did for a few seconds, so the data transmission switched over to it then back to the satellite network.” Vic smacked his hands together, leaning back from the camera. “That’s awesome, dude, you figured it out!”

  “Was there ever any doubt?”

  Jeff stared at the IP address. “Where is it?”

  “South Korea.”

  Jeff resisted the urge to check the Internet Protocol address, instead deciding on allowing Clarence the glory. “Ping it, see if they’re still online!”

  65

  Embassy of the United States Seoul

  32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

  “Mr. President, your time is up.”

  Starling tensed at the tone of finality coming from his phone, the call received precisely sixty minutes after the last one ended.

  Exactly at the deadline.

  A deadline they had fallen woefully short of making, though to Leroux’s credit, he had transferred over three-hundred-million, some reaching every single charity.

  He had to hope it was enough.

  “If you check your accounts, you’ll see we’ve already begun to transfer the funds as you stipulated. Over three-hundred-million has already been sent.”

  “Are you playing games with me, Mr. President? I want all the money deposited, not some token amount.”

  Starling’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of his chair, his heart slamming as he realized their gambling with a slip of the man’s tongue was probably about to fail.

  But they had no choice. It was time to go all in.

  “And it will be, but it will take time. You said we had to begin transferring the money within an hour. You said nothing about everything being transferred.”

  There was a pause.

  A bead of sweat rolled down Starling’s back.

  “So you want to play word games? You want to play games with the life of your daughter? You want to—wait a minute. What the hell?” There was a pause, concern in the voice on the other end, Starling exchanging a confused glance with Red. “Mr. President, I see you’ve simply been playing for time. You think detecting my network will save your daughter? Well, it won’t. Your time is up, Mr. President. See you in hell!”

  The call ended and Starling jumped from his chair, leaning over his cellphone lying on the desk. “Hello? Hello?” He looked up at Red. “What the hell is he talking about?”

  Red shook his head, leaning toward the comms set up on the desk so Langley could listen in. “Control, did you hear that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you find him?”

  “Negative. We’re still trying to trace the upload.”

  Red looked at Starling, puzzled. “Well, he certainly thinks we’ve found him.”

  “We haven’t, sir, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Maybe someone else has.”

  “Who?” asked Starling, dropping back into his chair.

  “Perhaps one of the other governments involved.”

  Red leaned onto the desk, knuckles white as his face was only inches from the microphone. “Whoever it is, we need to find out right away!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Starling tilted forward in his chair, his eyes burning. “Hurry, Mr. Leroux, it might be the only way to save my daughter.”

  66

  Joint Security Area

  Panmunjom, Korean Demilitarized Zone

  Ki-yong pressed the nicotine patch under his uniform, trying to coax out some more medicine, his fingers shaking from withdrawal. His new girlfriend had insisted he quit smoking before he met her parents, and she was worth the pain—she was sleeping with him, after all. Yet he was seriously jonesing for a butt and a session of Minecraft, his usually boring job far too tense today, his adrenal glands pegged from the constant activity on the other side of the Demilitarized Zone.

  He knew what was going on, of course, he wasn’t an idiot. It was all over the news, even the music station he normally listened to covering the story of the G20 kidnapping. They had all seen the video from the North claiming responsibility, though he still didn’t know what it was all about.

  What do they hope to accomplish?

  If they wanted war, they were certainly going about it properly. From the briefing, he knew more hardware and personnel were being sent here from around the world, it the biggest buildup since the war.

  It was a recipe for disaster.

  And he was on the frontlines.

  He thought of his girlfriend and wondered if this morning’s romp might have been the last one of his pathetically short and uninteresting life.

  If it is, I’m killing everyone I can.

  He grunted.

  You’ll be the first to die.

  He had the worst luck of anyone he knew, having been in Yeonpyeong when the North had dropped almost 170 shells and rockets on the island, killing four people, one of whom his parents had known. The retaliation had been swift and effective, the tense balance between the two nations maintained.

  His family had immediately moved, his mother refusing to live there anymore, it simply too close to the madmen ruling the land her son now stared at through binoculars. They had moved as far south as they could, his father fortunately able to transfer within the same company, though he had taken a pay cut.

  It had hurt the family.

  And that was why he had skipped his plans for university and instead joined the military, much of his paycheck sent home to help the family until his father could regain his position and his mother could find work. He had promised once things had settled he’d continue his education, though not before.

  He was a man, after all, and as the eldest son, it was his responsibility to help when needed.

  No matter the cost to his future.

  He stared at his counterpart—his mirror—on the other side of the line, giving a slight acknowledgment with the lifting of three fingers. It was returned, at great risk to his counterpart, the North probably more likely to shoot him if he were caught “fraternizing” with the enemy. He had no idea what the man’s name was, or anything about him, only that he was young like him, and probably had dreams like everyone else here, manning the line.

  As long as everyone stays calm, we might make it out of this.

  A buzzing sound behind him had him flipping over from his perch, his jaw dropping as something sped toward him. The others were hearing it now, everyone turning to see the cause of the sound.

  “What the hell is that?”

  A drone sped past them, followed by at least another half-dozen, streaming toward the other side, over the fences and the barbed wire and toward the gate manned by their opponents.

  Gunfire erupted and he flipped back over onto his stomach, peering through his binoculars, his ch
est tightening in horror as the drones somehow opened fire on the guards, several already down.

  An alarm sounded across the border, quickly followed by their own. Soldiers streamed from bunkers on both sides, those on the North finding several of their comrades dead.

  They opened fire.

  Though not on the drones, drones that appeared to have vanished, but on him and his friends. He ducked behind his sandbag-surrounded foxhole and grabbed the emergency phone connecting him to HQ.

  “What’s going on out there!”

  “It wasn’t us! We didn’t fire first!”

  “Then who the hell fired?”

  “It was drones!” he cried as the gunfire intensified from both sides. “Tell them to cease fire! It wasn’t us!”

  A wave of nausea swept over him as he heard the most fearsome sound he could imagine, thunder in the distance, memories of the childhood horror of Yeonpyeong flooding back.

  North Korean artillery.

  67

  Outside Qingdau, China

  Kane slipped over the wall, dropping silently to the grass below. Chan had already left, under strict orders to make himself scarce until retrieval was required. He edged forward, keeping a wary eye out for cameras and guards, but finding none.

  Hang Jian apparently felt quite secure in his own home, behind his high walls.

  And it made sense.

  He was, after all, a member of the Party.

  Untouchable.

  Unless they turned on him.

  Then no amount of security would save him.

  Kane’s stomach abruptly betrayed him and he bent over, heaving everything he had eaten for the past twenty-four hours into a birdbath thankfully free of feathered guests.

  He stared at his handiwork, a twinge of guilt tormenting him as he thought of the poor domestic who was going to have to clean that up once discovered.

  Sorry.

  But he did feel much better.

  Sometimes you just have to let it go.

  The song from Frozen popped in his head.

  He quickly punched his inner voice in the throat, ending the torment.

  He moved forward silently, the sound of music and giggling catching his ear. He rounded the north side of the house and smiled, Hang in a hot tub, two women paying nipple service to him, the rotund man’s head tossed back in ecstasy.

  Sensitive nipples?

  A third woman slowly emerged from under the water.

  Oh.

  He glanced at the man’s left hand, a wedding ring visible.

  I doubt one of them is his wife.

  He reached into his pocket and screwed a suppressor into the end of his Norinco QSZ-92, then boldly walked toward the party, rounding the hot tub so he was facing the adulterer.

  “Your wife sent me to check up on you.”

  The girls yelped and the man sat bolt upright, his eyes wide with shock. “Who are you?” A flash of anger immediately replaced the surprise, as if in his arrogance he thought he was too powerful to kill.

  Kane ignored the question, continuing in perfect Mandarin. “Ladies, if you’ll please excuse us?” They sat, unmoving.

  He flicked his weapon.

  And they jumped, rushing inside the house, Kane’s eyes following their slippery forms with appreciation.

  They’ve got nothing on Fang.

  Kane aimed the weapon casually at the man’s nether regions. “You know why I’m here.”

  Hang’s eyes narrowed. “Did my wife send you?”

  He actually appeared slightly worried.

  Must be a formidable woman.

  “No, but if you survive the night, she just might find out about your little party here.”

  Hang flicked the water, dismissing the threat. “She won’t care. I’ll just buy her another necklace. She’s a tramp from the farm who has forgotten her place.”

  Kane’s smile disappeared. “I think you’ve forgotten your place.”

  His stomach flipped again and a wave of nausea swept over him, a cold sweat breaking out over his entire body.

  “You look like shit. Are you okay? Don’t you dare throw up in my hot tub.”

  Kane debated doing it just to spite the man. “I think you should be worrying about yourself.”

  “I am. I don’t want to catch whatever you’ve got.”

  Kane flicked his weapon, reminding the man of his predicament. “I’ve got bullets with your name on them. These are what you should be worried about catching.” Kane knelt in front of the man, tapping the stonework with the suppressor. “Someone placed a large order for drones recently.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, still not taking his situation seriously. “So. We make thousands of drones. Go to Walmart if you want one.”

  Kane smiled slightly, Hang evidently figuring out he was American. “These were special drones. Weaponized drones.”

  The man paled slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  “Each was fitted with a Riker WX handgun, then the shipment was sent to South Korea, arriving yesterday.”

  Hang remained quiet, though his earlier bravado had disappeared, he apparently finally clueing into the fact he might be about to die.

  If I could see through those bubbles, I bet your balls just ran back to their pre-teen home.

  “Are we really going to play this game?”

  Again nothing.

  Kane raised his weapon, shooting the man in the shoulder. Hang screamed out in pain, his good hand slapping over the wound as blood oozed out over the clenched fingers. Kane nodded toward the wound. “You’ll live, but not long. That hot water has your heart pumping faster than normal. Your clotting agents aren’t going to work as well. Tell me what you know, you live. Play games, you die.” Kane raised his weapon, aiming at the other shoulder.

  “Wait!” cried Hang, holding out his bloodstained hand. “Y-you’re right.” He winced, pressing his hand against his shoulder once again. “We got the order and shipped them.”

  “And the guns? Where did you get them?”

  Hang shook his head. “I-I don’t know.” Kane raised his gun, Hang’s eyes bulging. “No! Wait! It’s the truth! It was an anonymous shipment.”

  “Why did you do it? You had to know it was wrong.”

  The man’s shoulders sagged, he wincing from the involuntary motion. “Money.”

  “Money?”

  “Yes. A lot of money.”

  “How much?”

  “I cleared over one million American dollars.”

  “How many drones?”

  “Five hundred.”

  Kane cursed. “How many were weaponized?”

  “All of them. We programmed the weapons as per the instructions given, then mounted them to the drones. We were told to stack them in the container, fully charged and unboxed, with the weapons loaded with the magazines provided in the shipment that arrived two months ago.”

  “And you have no idea who you’re dealing with?”

  “None, I swear!”

  Kane aimed his weapon at the man’s kibbles ’n bits, both hands quickly moving to cover Hang’s favorite body part.

  “I swear to you, I have no idea! It was all done through emails and wire transfers.”

  Kane eyed the man. There was genuine fear there, of that there was no doubt, though he couldn’t tell if Hang was telling the truth.

  It’s this damned food poisoning.

  It was throwing him off his game.

  The man’s eyes darted away.

  Kane smiled.

  I knew there was something else.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Hang’s eyes cast toward the rippling water, as if ashamed to answer.

  Kane rose, extending his arm, aiming directly at the man’s crotch. “Out with it, or I split the family jewels.”

  Hang’s eyes bulged. “Umm, did you find the second shipment?”

  68

  Seodaemu
n District

  Seoul, Republic of Korea

  “So, how’s everything going with Vanessa?”

  Atlas shrugged. “Better.”

  “Just better? I thought you two had patched everything up?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, it’s a lot better than when she wigged out. Now that she knows the truth, I think she’s happy, but she’s still getting used to it, you know, the entire security aspect.”

  “She’s been able to keep the secret?”

  “Yup. Her mom still hates me.”

  Spock slapped him on the back. “There you go!”

  Atlas chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that’s something.” He became serious. “Vanessa still worries every time I have to leave. When I get home, she has a hard time letting me go.”

  Jagger grinned. “Which can have its perks!”

  Atlas laughed. “No doubt! She had a hard time letting me go yesterday, though.”

  Dawson motioned to the dozens of heavily armed Koreans. “Well, at least you’re nice and safe in South Korea.”

  Atlas grunted. “Yeah, and with all the press coverage, the ladies probably know exactly where we are.”

  Dawson motioned toward Atlas’ pocket. “Fire her a text, let her know you’re all right.”

  Atlas shook his head. “Better not. If I do that, then every other time I’m on an op and can’t text her, she’ll think I’m dead.”

  Dawson nodded. “You’re a wise man.”

  “Hey, I ain’t just a pretty face.”

  “Oooh, don’t worry. You’re definitely not that.”

  “Hey, I said just.”

  “Oh, missed that part.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Dawson held up his hand, cocking an ear. “Oh shit! Incoming!”

  He stuck his arms out and corralled everyone he could toward a north-facing wall, there little doubt where the artillery he had just heard originated. As he slammed against the metal side of the warehouse, he looked behind him at the city of ten million. A fireball erupted to the east, then another, followed by dozens more as an intense artillery barrage began, the ground shaking with each nearby explosion.