Dawson checked the area, no civilians in evidence, several buildings smoldering from damage, others fully involved, the south side parking lot of their destination showing signs of a near miss, a large crater torn in the middle of the asphalt. He surveyed the roof of the building as they approached, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, just a lot of broken windows. There were several large garbage cans, and what appeared to be utility boxes, probably electrical or telecom, dotting the area.
Nothing out of place.
Where the hell are they?
All they knew was that they had been shipped, and nothing more. Korean authorities were raiding the private security firm now, but justice wasn’t his team’s goal.
Rescue was.
And he had little doubt the hostages were inside the building toward which they were racing.
The only question now was what would be there to greet them.
Something moved.
His head spun to the left and he cursed as the top of one of the dull gray utility boxes popped open, a Samsung SGR-A1 robot sentry suddenly appearing. “Evasive maneuvers, now!”
The pilot banked hard to starboard as the weapon opened up on them, tearing through the tail, sending them into a flat spin. Dawson caught a glimpse of the second chopper with additional South Korean forces breaking off, thankfully avoiding the fire, banking behind a nearby warehouse.
His team, however, wasn’t going to be so lucky, the pilot struggling to maintain control. He spun toward his passengers. “Bail!”
You don’t have to ask me twice!
The doors were already open in preparation for a rapid assault. Dawson stepped out onto the skid, reaching in and grabbing Atlas, helping the big man out of his seat as the buffeting chopper knocked him backward. He yanked Atlas through the door and the skilled operator hit the ground, rolling to absorb the shock as Dawson continued to pull the others out before bailing himself.
He rolled, quickly regaining his feet then sprinted toward the chopper as it slammed into the ground, the copilot jumping clear only moments before. The twisting, screeching mass of metal spun, the cockpit suddenly facing him as he rushed forward, the pilot struggling to free himself when he heard a steady stream of gunfire from his left.
It was the automated system, its target reacquired.
Bullets tore through the cockpit, the brave pilot shaking from the impacts of the penetrating rounds before a massive fireball erupted in all directions, knocking Dawson off his feet. Powerful hands lifted him up then dragged him out of the line of fire, the weapon system choosing soft targets now that it had eliminated the chopper. The copilot was quickly shredded, the poor bastard having survived the crash of his helicopter only to be mowed down by a faceless enemy.
Dawson and Atlas dove the last few feet, slamming into the side of a nearby warehouse across from their target as lead chewed up the asphalt behind them. Dawson leaped to his feet, pressing his back against the metal wall as the other side of the corner took a momentary beating before the weapon fell silent.
Spock hauled Atlas to his feet. “Christ, how many of those are there?”
Dawson brushed himself off. “I counted at least half a dozen of those boxes surrounding the facility, which matches the intel on the second shipment. If they’re all A1s, we’re going to have a hell of a time getting inside. Those puppies are designed to defend the DMZ.”
Weapons fire was suddenly heard, single shots, followed by screams.
From women.
Dawson peered across the pavement at their target.
“At least we know we’re in the right location.”
But if those are drones firing, we might be too late.
81
Seocho District
Seoul, Republic of Korea
Starling’s phone rang in his pocket, it disturbingly distinct in the war zone surrounding them. He fumbled for it as Red spun toward him.
“Sir, put that on vibrate!”
Starling quickly took the call, ending the position-betraying racket. “Hello?”
“Mr. President, I thought you’d like to hear your daughter die.”
The sounds of gunfire and screaming women filled his ear and he felt his legs give out, he slamming to the ground, the excruciating pain in his knee unnoticed as he fell on a jagged piece of concrete. “Please, I’ll do anything!”
“You’ll finish the transfers?”
“Yes.”
“Immediately?”
“I’m in the middle of a war zone. I-I can’t do anything—”
“Allow me.”
There was a clicking sound then a ring.
“Who is this?”
Starling immediately recognized his Vice President’s voice. “Jack, it’s me.
“Jesus, Jacob, are you okay?”
“Yes. No time to talk. Begin transferring the money into the accounts, now!”
“Are you sure you want to do this? It sets a dangerous prec—”
“Do it or they’re going to kill them all!”
“Very well, Mr. President. I’m authorizing the transfers now.”
There was a beep then the call cut off.
“Hello?”
“Very good, Mr. President. You might just have saved your daughter’s life.”
82
Operations Center 1
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
“Okay, here we go.”
Leroux watched as the display showing the accounts they were monitoring began to update, partial balance transfers going into each one as funds slowly trickled in, the pace increasing as the staff at Treasury and here at Langley coordinated their efforts to transfer over three billion dollars in the next several minutes.
He turned to Tong. “Where are we on the verifications?”
“They’ve all checked out so far, sir, except one that I’m running further checks on.”
Leroux stepped over to her station. “Which one?”
“Maritime Defense League. They’re legit, but this account was opened in their name just recently, and has a different address from the one listed on their website.”
Leroux’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the display, the Maritime Defense League already showing a balance in the millions, it still ticking up, it now over fifteen million. “How much was requested?”
“If the others match, then it will be almost ninety-seven million.”
Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Our GDP is about twenty-two percent of the G20 total, right?”
“Yes.”
“How much did they request from just us?”
“About twenty-two million.”
Leroux shook his head. “No, the exact number.”
Tong put the number on up the display.
$22,105,202.90
Leroux tapped his chin. “Why does that number look familiar?”
“Because you’re a freak? Who the hell remembers a number like that?”
Leroux gave Child a look, his underling grinning sheepishly. “Bring up the file on Riker. How much did he lose when the President canceled all his contracts?”
Child’s fingers of redemption flew as he brought up the information.
He gasped, staring at his boss in awe. “You are a freak!”
“How much?”
“Based upon the number of shares he held and the opening price of Riker Defensive Systems stock that morning…” He motioned at the screen, the number appearing under the one Tong had just posted.
$22,105,202.90
Leroux smiled.
Now I know who you are.
83
Unknown Location
Seoul, Republic of Korea
Someone cried out in pain, their agony obvious even over the near constant barrage of gunfire and screams from those trapped under the tables. So far, their shelter had not only protected them from the bombing outside but the bullets as well. Though many of the rounds were finding their way through, the drones had an obvious design flaw.
> They couldn’t shoot low, or downward.
He had watched as the operator had tried to angle one of the drones to fire at about a forty degree down angle and it had merely flipped over from the added weight of the weapon, falling uselessly to the floor. They then tried to lower one close to the floor and fire under the couches, yet it too proved unstable, the downdraft from the propellers causing it to bob and weave, making aiming impossible.
If they kept their heads down, they only had to worry about lucky shots and ricochets.
And unfortunately, someone’s luck had just run out.
“Who’s hit?”
“Moi!”
Niner crawled over to the French woman. “Where?”
“My foot!”
Niner flipped around, his head now a juicy target, in fact his entire body one since he had given his body armor to Nancy. He checked the woman’s feet, she lucky to be wearing a thick-soled shoe, obviously designed for both fashion and comfort, a day of walking originally planned. Her left heel was split, blood evident. He gently removed the shoe, her leg jumping with either genuine pain or anticipated pain.
It was just a scratch.
Or at least a scratch to a soldier used to combat. If this had happened in a civilian situation, she would probably be rushed to the hospital for stitches. He pulled a field dressing from his utility belt and wrapped it around her foot to staunch the mild bleeding, then crawled up beside her. “Just a scratch, nothing to worry about.” He grinned at her. “Nice shoes! They probably saved your life!”
She smiled weakly, appearing relieved. “Merci, that’s exactly why I bought them.”
Niner laughed and patted her on her back. “Keep your head down and you’ll be fine.” He crawled back to his former position, replacing Kim who had been lying atop Nancy while he was away. “Everyone still okay?”
Nancy grunted. “Feeling a little squished.”
“Better than a bullet wound.”
“Tell that to my breasts.”
Kim giggled, smiling at Niner. “You have to be a woman to understand.”
Niner squeezed one of his boobs. “I guess so.”
Nancy laughed as the gunfire abruptly stopped. Niner glanced behind him to see the drones still hovering beyond the now torn apart couches.
“Everybody stay down, they could start firing again at any moment.”
Kim rolled over onto an elbow. “Are they out of ammo?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it, not so soon.” He listened, the shelling of the capital continuing outside, there no explanation for why the drones had stopped their attack. He turned to Kim. “Something else is going on.”
84
Unknown Location
Grant Riker watched the camera footage from several of the drones on a large array of screens spread before him. He had to admit, reluctantly, that he was impressed with what the Special Forces operator had done. The low profile made it difficult for the drones to shoot their targets, they needing a minimum clearance off the ground.
He now regretted ordering the metal tables. His aim had been to prevent the hostages from starting a fire that might be used to signal for help, he instructing the private security company he had hired to use only fire retardant materials when building the tiny oasis for his hostages.
That had backfired, though perhaps not. If he had succeeded in killing the hostages, then the millions now pouring into the accounts wouldn’t be happening. Part of him had hoped that bastard Starling would fail, though right now, it appeared he might succeed.
Brilliantly.
Yet in the end, it wouldn’t matter.
Nancy Starling was going to die.
He would have his revenge.
With the exception of them somehow identifying his computer, everything had gone according to plan. He had used the illegal sales of his canceled prototypes to fund the operation, it taking a few million to actually execute. The payoff would be many times that amount, and even if it failed, money wasn’t his only motive.
And the environment absolutely wasn’t one of them.
Though he did have to admit the charities would prove useful idiots now that funds were actually arriving in their accounts, appearing as donations from the United States government. The PR disaster that awaited the President when they tried to get the money back might be worth sacrificing the billions to avoid.
Hang Jian had come through on the drones and their weaponization, as he had fully expected. He had been recommended by the people who had handled the black market sale of the supposedly destroyed prototypes, Riker keeping enough in reserve for his plan, a plan that had been under development for over a year, a plan he had designed so he alone, the only person left in his life that he could trust, could execute it.
He watched the balance of the shadow account he had set up rapidly increase. With the chaos now raining down on Seoul, and the President foolishly remaining in the city, his only fear now was that Starling may be killed and the transfers reversed.
It was a gamble, but he had to wait for it to hit the exact amount he wanted. He had lost a fortune after that bastard had destroyed the company he had built from the ground up, his life’s work lost because he had tried to make a profit off of weapons he had designed. Who was Starling, an unelected president, to say that he had to destroy the prototypes? He had spent millions developing them, and the compensation he had received was a pittance to what they were truly worth. Law enforcement agencies around the world would have lined up to purchase them, but Starling, inexplicably, had ordered their complete destruction, claiming that since they were designed specifically for the Secret Service, they owned them, even the patents.
It was bullshit.
But in a nation still reeling from the attempted coup that had led to their rapid development, the courts were eager to side with their new President in his challenge.
So Riker had taken matters into his own hands.
He had destroyed them on paper.
He had pled ignorance when it was discovered, but unfortunately the White House didn’t buy his story, instead canceling all his company’s contracts without just cause—eight billion dollars’ worth—and with the US government providing over 90% of his revenues, it had bankrupted him overnight. The moment the news hit the wires, his stock collapsed to mere pennies before noon.
He was ruined.
It had destroyed his company.
Destroyed his family.
And destroyed him.
And President Starling would feel his pain, a pain so great it could never be escaped, or forgotten.
He would suffer the same loss as him.
Today.
85
Operations Center 1
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
“Sir, I think we’ve got a problem.”
Leroux turned to Tong. “What?”
“Well, I’ve just been reviewing Riker’s file and, well, something happened about six months ago that might explain what’s going on.”
Leroux pursed his lips, unsure he was going to like what he was about to hear. “What?”
“His daughter, sir. After they lost everything in the bankruptcy, his wife left him and took their teenage daughter with her. There was a custody battle but he lost.”
Leroux’s head bobbed, pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. “Go on.”
“Well, his daughter apparently fell in with the wrong crowd and was shot during a drug deal in Miami.”
Leroux cursed. “He’s got nothing to live for!”
Child turned in his chair. “Then why go for the money?”
“Why not? He gets the President to pay billions in ransom for his daughter, a number too big to hide, and it destroys his career, just like Riker’s was destroyed. Then he kills the President’s daughter so the President can feel the pain he feels.”
Child whistled. “Christ, you mean he has no intention of letting her go?”
Leroux shook his head. “I don’t think so. The mo
ment that account reaches the total he wants, he kills her.” Leroux glanced at the screen, the balances updating, the Maritime Defense League balance suddenly rolling to the exact amount ordered for the American contribution. “Shit. Looks like we’ve completed our part.” He sighed. “I don’t think he’s going to wait for the rest.”
The balance suddenly updated again.
To zero.
Leroux shook his head. “Sometimes I hate being right.”
86
Yangcheon District
Seoul, Republic of Korea
“Zero-One, Control Actual. They’ve drained the account.”
Dawson pressed the comm against his ear. “Has there been any communication since they did?”
“Negative. This is personal. They’re going to kill the President’s daughter, no matter what. You’ve got to get in there.”
Dawson peered around the corner, ducking back as the sentry’s gun whipped toward him. “We’re a little outgunned at the moment. We’re waiting for reinforcements. There’s no way we’re getting past those automated guns with MP5s and half a dozen men. Not in time.”
Gunfire erupted from inside the warehouse again, Dawson exchanging a concerned look with Atlas.
“Control, they’ve opened fire again. You’ve got to disrupt their kill chain. These weapons are being controlled by someone. Cut their lines of communications or the hostages are dead!”
“Everyone stay down! No matter what happens, keep your heads down!”
Niner reached over and grabbed Kim’s hand, squeezing it. She stared at him, fear and determination in her eyes. Then smiled.
“So, when this is all over, would you like to go grab a coffee somewhere?”
Kim’s eyes popped. “Are you crazy? Guns are firing and we might die, and you’re asking me out on a date?”
Niner shrugged. “Doesn’t that make it seem like you’re very important to me?” He grinned. “And besides, can you think of anything better to do right now?”
Kill Chain Page 19