Ballistic Force

by Don Pendleton

  Kurtzman nodded grimly. “Sure looks that way.”

  “At least we know they were heading south,” Delahunt said. “Provided they didn’t backtrack, that would put them on a course towards Phoenix.”

  “Not much of a silver lining,” Kurtzman said.

  They were interrupted by Wethers, who called from across the room, “I may have gotten a bite.”

  “Stay on this,” Kurtzman told Delahunt before wheeling back to Wethers’ station. “What have you got, Hunt?”

  “It’s the FBI in Los Angeles,” Wethers explained. “They’ve been getting more information out of the gang member they brought in after that raid in Koreatown.”

  “New stuff?” Kurtzman said. “Because we’ve already got all the stuff he spilled yesterday.”

  “Yes, I saw all that,” Wethers responded, “This is fresh, within the past hour. This gangster just gave up the location of a port dock in San Pedro where the Killboys were picking up their heroin shipments. The DEA and FBI are both sending teams to check it out.”

  “That’ll be a nice break if it pans out,” Kurtzman admitted, “but the Killboys’ drug-dealing really isn’t top priority at the moment. At least not for us.”

  “Maybe not directly,” Wethers said, “but there might be a connection to this whole defector business.”

  “What kind of connection?”

  “Think about it,” Wethers said. “If North Korea is using this port as a conduit, it’s probably not limited to just drug-running. They’re probably running other rackets through it, and it might even be the way they smuggled these REDI agents stateside in the first place.”

  Kurtzman grinned faintly and nodded. “Now I know why we pegged you for that think tank, Hunt. Good call.”

  “I’m doing a search on the company working out of that port,” Wethers said, scrolling through the steady stream of data coming up on his monitor. “Here we go.

  “It’s called the Far East Trading Company. It’s chartered by the Chinese, but obviously North Korea has their finger in the pie somewhere.”

  Kurtzman quickly pieced together Wethers’ findings with the information Carmen Delahunt had just come up with. An idea came to him.

  “Can you switch gears for a second?” he asked Wethers. “Try doing a cross-reference search for Far East and Phoenix, Arizona.”

  “I think I can manage that.” Wethers cued up one of his customized search engines and typed in a quick command.

  In less than three seconds, he had the information they were looking for: the address for a Far East distribution center in Phoenix.

  “Bingo.” Kurtzman glanced over his shoulder and called to Carmen Delahunt, “Patch through a quick call to Striker. I think we know where that REDI crew is headed.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Phoenix, Arizona

  The Far East Trading Company was one of four enterprises sharing the privately owned Cooper Heights airfield four miles north of downtown Phoenix, and as the Clark County Metro chopper carrying Mack Bolan drifted toward the facility, a FedEx cargo plane was in the process of lifting off the runway. A cream-colored FETC jet, meanwhile, was taxiing into position for a takeoff of its own.

  “Block that plane!” Bolan told the Metro pilot. “Put us down right on the runway!”

  “Will do,” the pilot responded.

  Ed Scanlon and Jayne Bahn were riding on a bench seat directly behind Bolan and the pilot. As she glanced out the window, Bahn pointed to the ground below.

  “Looks like we’re right on time for the party,” she said.

  Bolan shifted his gaze and saw half a dozen armed men in suits piling out of a trio of unmarked sedans that had pulled up to the Far East terminal, which, in turn, was located directly adjacent to a larger warehouse complex. Another handful of AHP vehicles was racing toward the facility, rooflights flashing.

  “We’re putting the captives at risk,” Scanlon complained. “Anybody on board that plane’s going to know what’s going down.”

  “This is the hand we were dealt,” Bolan said. “I don’t see any other way to play it.”

  “Besides,” Bahn interjected, “those captives will be in a hell of a bigger fix if we let that plane off the ground.”

  The FETC cargo plane had finished taxiing and was just beginning to pick up speed when the Metro chopper swooped down into its path. The runway was too narrow for the plane to have any chance of veering past the chopper, leaving its pilot with no choice but to ease off on the throttle and apply the brakes.

  By the time the plane had come to a stop, the chopper had landed and Bolan was already scrambling out, clutching his .44 Desert Eagle. Bahn and Scanlon were right behind him.

  “Fan out!” Bolan shouted.

  Bahn moved left, taking cover behind a cargo tram parked just off the tarmac. Scanlon, meanwhile, went right and positioned himself next to one of the fifty-five-gallon drums spaced at intervals along the inner edge of the runway. Bolan went straight, crouching as he passed under the nose of the cargo plane.

  Once he’d reached the door to the cockpit, he stopped and waited. The turbines continued to drone, making it impossible for him to hear what was going on inside the plane. Like Scanlon, he was concerned about the safety of the defectors, but he doubted that they would be harmed up front. More likely, he figured, they would find themselves with a hostage situation, with the REDI operatives using their captives as bargaining chips in hopes of securing at least a safe getaway for themselves.

  Less than a minute later, the jet’s engines suddenly fell silent. Moments later, Bolan heard the cockpit door opening.

  “Hands on your heads!” Bahn ordered from behind the tram.

  Apparently her command was quickly adhered to, because several moments later Bahn gestured to Bolan and shouted, “Go ahead!”

  Bolan cautiously moved out from beneath the plane and leveled his gun at the cockpit doorway. A uniformed pilot stood in the opening with his hands raised high while another man placed one hand on his head, leaving the other free to lower a swing-mounted staircase. Neither man looked Korean to Bolan. He figured them for Chinese-Americans.

  “What’s this about?” the pilot asked, his voice trembling.

  “As if you didn’t know,” Bolan said.

  Once the staircase had been lowered, the Executioner motioned for the two men to climb down. Bahn, meanwhile, broke from cover and raced toward the plane. Scanlon did the same.

  “Go ahead,” the FBI agent said once he’d caught up with Bolan. “I’ve got them covered.”

  Bolan slowly made his way up the staircase. Bahn followed close behind.

  “There’s no one else,” the pilot called up to them. “It’s just us two.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Bahn murmured.

  The crewmen, as it turned out, were telling the truth. After reaching the vacant cockpit, Bolan and Bahn warily ventured into the rear cabin, only to find it empty. And when they continued on to the rear hold, all they could see were endless stacks of packed cargo boxes stamped with the Far East insignia. None of the boxes was large enough for anyone to conceal anyone, and there was no place among the stacks behind which to hide.

  “Just our luck,” Bahn muttered once she’d finished inspecting the hold. “We’ve got the wrong damn plane!”

  Bolan lowered his .44, doing his best to rein in his frustration. “Maybe we got here ahead of them. Maybe they didn’t get a chance to wrangle aboard yet.”

  “That or maybe they already flew the coop.”

  By the time they’d made their way out of the plane, Scanlon was waiting for them alongside one of the plainclothes officers that been the first on the scene. He confirmed Bahn’s worse-case scenario.

  “Missed the bastards again.” Scanlon gestured at the other officer, he added, “He says they already flew out on another jet. Five freaking minutes ago.”

  The other officer pointed toward the nearby terminal, where the stolen Winnebago was parked amid a fleet of FETC delivery tr
ucks.

  “That’s what they showed up in,” he said. “We just searched it and found two bodies inside. An elderly couple. The ’bago’s probably theirs.”

  “So our guys just pulled up and were able to hop on board one of the jets?” Scanlon said. “Just like that?”

  “We’re still interrogating a few people to figure out what happened,” the other officer said, “but from the sounds of it, they didn’t have to take over the plane. It was ready and waiting for them.”

  “Unbelievable,” Bahn muttered.

  “My guess is when we go through their warehouse we’re going to find more than just cheap cup holders and tea caddies,” Scanlon said. “I’m thinking their smack route to Phoenix runs through here.”

  “So we’ve made another drug bust,” Bahn rumbled. “Big whoopie. Meanwhile, the people we want are flying off into the wild blue yonder.”

  “Look, before you guys start kicking yourselves too much,” the other officer said, “you should know these guys you’re looking for aren’t out of the woods yet.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jayne said.

  “That plane they grabbed doesn’t have the fuel load to get clear across the ocean,” the officer replied. “They’ve got a scheduled pit stop in Guam. And even if they divert from their itinerary, we’ll have them on radar and know where they’re going.”

  “So we can head them off at the pass,” Bahn said. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Pretty much,” the other officer said. “We’ll have a force of some kind ready to meet them wherever they wind up landing, but I don’t think you’re gonna be able to get there in time to be part of the reception committee.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Bolan said, already plotting his next move. “That jet can only fly so fast. If I remember rightly, there’s an Air Force base a few miles from here, and they’ve got to have something that can fly faster.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Changchon Rehabilitation Center, North Korea

  It was late morning when General Oh Chol returned to the clandestine mountain bunker where his whirlwind inspection tour had begun the day before. Yet another shipment of warheads had been delivered in his absence, and Major Jin was inside the massive vault overseeing the placement of the nuclear payloads.

  As Oh waited for the major to complete his task, he took note of the rock wall encasing the vault and noticed still more debris had fallen to the ground. It wasn’t a large amount—barely enough to fill a wheelbarrow—but the displacement was enough to merit concern, a fact that brought the general a measure of relief.

  Back at the missile launch site in Kijongdong, Oh had called ahead to Kaesong, requesting that a member of the KPA’s Corps of Engineers be dispatched immediately to Changchon. Since the walls here at the storage facility continued to show signs of crumbling, Oh figured his call for such prompt attention wouldn’t attract undue suspicion. It was important that Major Jin not question the presence of a COE official around the base, because the inspection would be only a pretext, masking the real reason for the visit. Yes, the inspector would be a trained structural engineer, but his COE credentials would be merely a cover, as his primary assignment would entail his expertise as an undercover agent for the Ministry of Internal Intelligence.

  MII routinely used the Corps of Engineers as a front for investigating military personnel, as the infrastructure at the KPA’s various bases was almost always in need of some kind of repair or maintenance, allowing internal spies to carry out investigations in conjunction with their engineering tasks. Such would be the case here at Changchon. While the arriving COE official would take care to give due attention to the crumbling walls of the cavern facility, his greater concern would be initiating surveillance of Major Jin and the officials under his command.

  Oh had his misgivings about summoning someone to spy on Jin, and he hoped that his long-time colleague would stand up to the scrutiny and be found innocent of anything but the sort of negligible, petty graft that was commonplace among the KPA military brass. Dabbling in the black market was something MII would likely turn a blind eye to, as long as it didn’t raise doubts as to an officer’s loyalty to the Kim regime and its ideals. With any luck, Jin’s reputation would remain intact and he would be allowed to go about his business without ever knowing that Oh had placed him under surveillance based on the rumors his nephew had heard at the launch facility in Kijongdong.

  The general was kept waiting only a few minutes before Jin emerged from the vault and joined him.

  “Ah, General,” the major said, greeting Oh with a disarming smile. “How was your little side trip to Kijongdong?”

  “Like you said, they’re making good progress,” Oh responded. “The tunnels have merged, and the missile base is coming along ahead of schedule.”

  “And how is your back after riding in that damnable little cart?” Jin queried. “Do you need any more ‘medication’?”

  The general shook his head. “The pain is manageable.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Jin said.

  The major’s cheerful concern unnerved Oh. Eager to change the conversation, he brought Jin’s attention to the heap of crumbled debris at the base of the cave wall. As nonchalantly as he could manage, he explained, “I went ahead and called in a structural engineer like we discussed. COE said they would send someone up from Kaesong. He is probably already on his way.”

  “There was no real need for them to hurry,” Jin said with a shrug, glancing at the loose rock. “It’s not like the walls are going to start collapsing around us.”

  “Maybe not,” Oh countered, “but given what we’re storing here, I thought it best to err on the side of caution.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Jin said. He let the matter pass and told Oh, “I was just on my way to lunch. Join me, why don’t you?”

  “I’d like to,” Oh said, “but I’m due back in Kaesong. I really should be going.”

  “What difference will an hour make?” Jin said. “Besides, don’t you want to be here when the structural engineer shows up?”

  Oh eyed Jin suspiciously, but the major gave no indication that he was asking something more than a straightforward question. Oh would have preferred not to spend any more time than necessary with Jin until after the surveillance, but now he was wary that turning down the major’s invitation might raise a red flag. He decided his best course was to play along and respond as he normally would.

  “I guess I am a little hungry,” he told Jin, “but my memory of the food here doesn’t exactly arouse my appetite.”

  “We have a new chef,” Jin said. “Stick with the beef dishes and you can’t go wrong. Come, come…”

  Oh saw that there was no way he could beg off any further, so he relented and followed Jin to the complex’s dining facility, a small enclosed area located between his office and the housing units. There was no one in the food line and Oh followed Jin’s cue, helping himself to some beef strips, rice and a medley of fresh, chopped vegetables. Once they’d taken their trays to a table near the entrance, a uniformed private brought over a pot of tea and two ceramic cups, then vanished into the kitchen.

  As the men began to eat, Jin casually inquired about Oh’s family and some of their mutual friends and colleagues. The conversation left Oh increasingly unsettled and soon his paranoia resurfaced, making him wonder if the major was deliberately bringing up so many personal matters as a ploy to increase the guilt the general felt for having summoned someone to come spy on him. Oh answered Jin’s queries tersely while trying, whenever possible, to tactfully steer the conversation back to military matters.

  They discussed the latest delivery of warheads as well as the logistics of transferring a portion of the nuclear arsenal to Kijongdong once the co-joined tunnels had been widened enough to accommodate the missile transporters, and when Jin jokingly compared the maneuver to the first time he’d deflowered a virgin, his mirth and laughter seemed so genuine that Oh’s paranoia vanishe
d, replaced by more pangs of guilt. The general found himself wishing that his nephew had never brought up the rumors about Jin and, even more, he wished he hadn’t overreacted and made the call to bring in an agent from MII to investigate the major. It all seemed like a big mistake.

  Finally, Oh made up his mind that he would try as best he could to warn Jin to be more discreet about his under-the-counter dealings. Once he’d made his point, he figured he could then tell the arriving MII agent that there’d been a false alarm and that Jin and his fellow officers had already been carefully checked out and found to be unfailing in their loyalty to Kim Jong-il. The agent could then tend to the issue of the crumbling walls and return to Kaesong without the need for subterfuge.

  As the two men were close to finishing their tea, Oh eased into his plan. He casually reaffirmed his conviction that things were going well at Changchon and suggested to Major Jin that the developments mirrored an overall change in the country’s fortunes.

  “It feels like we’ve reached a turning point,” he concluded. “I think our hardest times are behind us.”

  “One would hope,” Jin said.

  “We’ve all had to be a little resourceful to get through these past few years,” Oh confessed. “I don’t know about you, but there have been a few occasions when I’ve bent the rules to make things easier for myself. I’m not proud of it by any means, but I guess one does what once has to.”

  Jin paused in midsip and glanced briefly at Oh, then slowly set down his tea cup. Finally he offered a shrug and responded cryptically, “Sometimes one has to create one’s own opportunities.”

  “Yes,” Oh concurred. “Within limits, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “One mustn’t be too brazen,” Oh went on. “There is a point when one might become a slave to his opportunities.”

  Jin fell silent again and slowly stirred sugar into his tea. His neck had reddened, however, and soon he glanced up and stared hard at Oh.

  “What have you heard?” he asked the general point-blank.

  Oh did his best to look puzzled. “Heard?”