Ballistic Force

by Don Pendleton

  Bryn nodded and peered out one of the windows. Staring, he saw the vast, gleaming waters of the Pacific Ocean as well as the palm-shrouded terrain of Zane Island. They were close enough now that he could also make out the airfield where they would be landing. Just a quick stop, he figured, and they’d be in the home stretch.

  THE HOPE FOR THOSE who’d overtaken the FETC facility had been that the REDI agents would deplane with their prisoners while the cargo plane was being refueled, but as the aircraft was coming in for a landing, the pilot reported that all passengers would remain aboard.

  “We’re in a hurry to move out,” he added, “so have that cargo were supposed to pick up ready to load.”

  Once he fielded the message, the Army officer who’d replaced the FETC dispatcher at the radio controls turned to Major Cook. “Do you want me to try to lure them out?”

  Cook, in turn, glanced over at Bolan, who was standing nearby with Jayne Bahn.

  “It might make them suspicious,” Bolan said. “I wouldn’t chance it.”

  “He’s right,” Bahn said.

  “That makes it unanimous,” Cook said. “We’re going to have to go in after them.”

  The trio left the radio room and entered the main hangar. The bodies of those slain in the brief skirmish had been dragged into one corner and covered with blankets. The surrounding grounds had been hosed down to remove the blood that had been spilled. Part of the Army crew had been dispatched to the control tower and other hangars to insure that it would appear that it was business as usual at the airfield. The remaining soldiers were assembled in the FETC hangar, ready to carry out whichever of three possible battle plans Cook might decide to employ.

  “All right, everyone! Hop to it!” the major announced once he was sure he had their attention. “They’re staying inside the bird, so were gonna have to go with Plan B.”

  WITHIN A MINUTE after the plane had landed, a refueling truck was out on the tarmac along with a mechanics van, followed by a cargo tram hauling two enclosed carts. The refueling and mechanical crews were made up of the U.S. Army officers who’d best been able to fit into available FETC uniforms. The remaining officers remained poised just inside the nearby hangar, ready to provide backup. Cook had taken the wheel of the cargo tram, and both Mack Bolan and Jayne Bahn were concealed inside the first of the tram’s freight cars, crouched behind the same crates that had provided cover for the snipers who’d slain FBI Agent Ed Scanlon. Bolan’s Desert Eagle was tucked inside his web holster. For this mission, like Bahn, he’d opted for a sound suppressed 9 mm Colt pistol.

  “No need to rush,” Bolan whispered as the tram rolled to a stop near the rear of the cargo plane. “The longer we hold off, the better our chances of getting in without tipping off the others.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bahn returned. “I know the drill.”

  Several seconds passed, then the Young-333’s rear tailgate slowly groaned open. The gate doubled as a loading ramp and was more than sturdy enough to support the tram. When one of the plane’s crewmen appeared at the top of the incline, Cook called up to him, saying he was going to bring the cargo directly into the hold. It was standard unloading procedure and the man responded with a nod before moving to one side. Cook powered the tram slowly up the incline. Once he had a view of the cavernous hold, he looked around and was relieved to see no other crew members. This was going to be easier than he thought.

  Once the tram cleared the ramp, Cook turned slightly and put on the brakes. He was stepping out of the tram, figuring he could easily overpower the crewman on his own, when the door leading from the cargo hold to the passenger cabin suddenly swung open. One of the REDI goons that had been guarding the defectors strode into view. He had his carbine with him but was preoccupied with fishing through his shirt pocket for his cigarettes.

  Shit, Cook thought to himself. So much for a cakewalk. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder. From behind the crates inside the tram, Bolan nodded and pointed to himself, then gestured for Cook to go ahead and take care of the other crewman, who was in the process of untethering a freight dolly strapped to the wall of the cargo hold.

  Cook nodded a greeting to the REDI goon, then moved to the wall and leaned over to unfasten the binds securing a second dolly. He used only one hand, leaving the other free to slip a combat knife from inside his right boot. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept an eye on both the crewman and the REDI agent.

  Two seconds later the REDI agent was about to light his cigarette when Bolan fired a silenced round into the man’s chest. The guard groaned and dropped his cigarette as his legs gave out beneath him. He was reeling forward when Cook suddenly whirled away from the dollies and lunged into the crewman next to him. He reached out, clamping one hand over the man’s mouth, stifling the cry he was about to make. With his other hand he thrust the blade of his combat knife deep into the man’s chest, killing him.

  By the time Cook had lowered his victim to the floor of the cargo hold, Bolan and Bahn had slipped out of the tram. Together, the three of them sidestepped the slain REDI guard and approached the doorway leading to the passenger cabin. Leading the way, Bolan said firmly, “Lets finish this.”

  HONG SUNG-NAM SMOKED a cigarette and stared through the window portal of the passenger cabin at the refueling crew and maintenance workers milling around the plane. There seemed to be more men than necessary for the task, but he didn’t dwell on the matter. His mind was elsewhere. He was already planning how best to capitalize on the success of his mission. He knew that in the wake of the purges following the Operation Guillotine affair there were ample opportunities for upward mobility within the ranks. In particular, there were openings within a coveted upper echelon of REDI, which was comprised of solo agents, and given Hong’s distaste with what seemed to be an ever-deteriorating caliber of subordinates, he felt it would be worth lobbying for the right to work alone. And though he’d never been keen on the idea of an office position, if the right offer presented itself, he might even consider leaving the field. After all, he wasn’t getting any younger. One couldn’t do this kind of work forever.

  Hong was brought out of his reverie when the pilot emerged from the cockpit and asked Bryn Ban-Ho to move away from the cabin door so that he could open it.

  “Why?” Hong’s colleague asked the pilot. “I thought we were staying put.”

  “We are,” the pilot said, “but they’re bringing our meal provisions. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  As the pilot opened the door, Hong put out his cigarette and joined Bryn in staring out at the mobile staircase that was being wheeled into position in front of the open doorway. Two men wearing bright-colored safety vests were standing on the staircase landing, flanking either side of a metal tray stacked with foam containers. Something about the whole arrangement struck Hong as odd, and coming on the heels of seeing the overstaffed ground crew, he felt a sudden apprehension.

  “Why does it take two men to push a food cart?” he wondered out loud. Before Bryn or the pilot could respond, a slight wind picked up out on the runway and Hong saw one of the caterers’ vests flap open in the breeze, revealing a shoulder holster.

  “It’s a trap!” Hong shouted, reaching for his gun.

  Bryn was instantly on his guard, as well, and just as one of the Army officers masquerading as a caterer prepared to fling a stun grenade, the REDI operative grabbed hold of the startled pilot and shoved him out through the opening. The mobile staircase was within a few feet of the plane, and the pilot, arms flailing, deflected the grenade before crashing headlong into the second caterer and inadvertently knocking over the serving cart. Both men toppled down the stairs in a tangled heap. The grenade, meanwhile, detonated on the tarmac, disorienting a handful of the ground troops. The soldier remaining on the staircase grabbed for his gun, but before he could pull it from his holster, Hong put a slug through his heart, then hastily swung the cabin door closed.

  Amid all the commotion, Li-Roo Kohb ducked low in his passen
ger seat and shouted for Shinn Kam-Song and his wife to do the same. The three captives cowered as their guard rushed past them, hoping to escape through the rear door leading to the cargo hold. Before he could open the door, however, it suddenly burst inward and he found himself being tackled to the floor by Mack Bolan.

  Once Bolan had brought the man down, he finished him off with a point-blank burst from his Colt, then rolled off the body and took cover behind the second row of passenger seats. Bahn had charged into the fray right behind him, and when she saw Hong and Bryn both aiming at her from the front of the cabin, she fired a quick shot and dived to her left, grimacing as one of Hong’s rounds pounded into her shoulder. “Just my luck,” she groaned.

  Major Cross fell back and remained in the cargo hold for a moment, using the door frame for cover. He waited out a volley of gunshots from the two REDI agents, then crouched low and came through the doorway returning fire. He caught Bryn with a head shot but missed Hong.

  Hong, suddenly the lone survivor, dived to the floor. He knew his position was hopeless, but he had no intention of surrendering. All that was left for him was the vague consolation that before dying he might at least thwart the enemy’s rescue of the hostages. Face to the floorboards, he peered beneath the seats, hoping to empty his magazine into the three captives hiding in the rear of the plane.

  It wasn’t to be, however.

  Lying on the floor between Hong and his intended target was Mack Bolan, and the Executioner had already beaten his enemy counterpart to the draw.

  “Checkmate,” Bolan whispered as he pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Changchon Rehabilitation Center, North Korea

  Before he met with the undercover agent from the Ministry of Intelligence, there was one matter Yulim wanted to attend to. He still had the phone number Lim Seung-Whan had used to make the initial ransom call following their meeting the night before. Using a scrambler-equipped cell phone, the commandant sat behind the desk in his bungalow and dialed the number. As he waited for an answer, he stared at the guards, who were in the process of dismantling the television he’d ruined earlier. He told them, “Once you’re finished, I need a word with you.”

  When Lim’s executive secretary finally picked up the phone at the captive businessman’s Seoul headquarters, Yulim brusquely told the woman there had been a change in plans to have Lim released the following morning. He claimed Lim was now suspected of spying and would be detained further while he underwent more thorough interrogation. Yulim refused to answer the questions prompted by his announcement and hung up without offering a revised timetable for Lim’s release. In truth, he still wasn’t sure how he was going to play out the hand. It would have to wait.

  The commandant called the guards over and told them how they were to deal with Sergeant Dahn. Once he felt sure they understood the instructions, he told them to go ahead and bring the man in. As he waited, Yulim lit a cigarette and forced himself to calm down. It’s under control, he assured himself. Everything is under control.

  As Dahn was led into the bungalow, Yulim circled his desk and greeted the MII agent cordially. He apologized for having kept the man waiting, then said, “Major Jin tells me you’re looking for a little recreation.”

  Dahn nodded, then gestured over his shoulder. “Yes, and I think I just had a look at the woman I’d like to ‘recreate’ with.”

  Yulim chuckled, “She’s a nice one, all right. I think we can arrange something.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “First, however,” Yulim said, “we need to clarify a few things.”

  Yulim stubbed out his cigarette in the same ashtray he’d earlier hurled at the television screen. It was the signal the guards were waiting for. One of them suddenly stepped forward and aimed his carbine at Dahn’s face. The sergeant was clearly caught off guard, and he was equally unprepared to prevent the other guard from stripping him of his instrument kit.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he protested, staring past the carbine at Yulim.

  “Put your hands in the air,” Yulim ordered.

  When Dahn was hesitant to comply, the guard with the instrument kit pulled his service revolver and pressed the barrel to the base of the sergeant’s skull.

  “I’ll say it one last time,” Yulim said. “Put your hands in the air.”

  Dahn warily complied. When the second guard turned the instrument kit over to Yulim, the MII agent protested, “Those are just engineering tools.”

  Yulim laughed contemptuously. “Of course they are. And you’re just an engineer, is that it?”

  “I’m with the Corps of Engineers,” Dahn said. “I was sent here to inspect—”

  “Save your breath!” Yulim interjected as he began to inspect the instrument kit. “We know who you are and we know the real reason for your visit.”

  Yulim was checking the kit’s side compartments when the front door to the bungalow opened. Major Jin entered and nodded at Yulim, then grinned at Dahn as he held out the bugging devices the MII agent had planted in his office.

  “I believe these are yours, Sergeant.”

  “And look here,” Yulim added, removing another pair of similar devices from the instrument kit. “He had a couple of them for me, too.”

  Dahn paled. He wasn’t sure how his cover had been blown, but he knew that he’d just been turned from hunter into prey. He knew, too, that there was no longer any point in trying to lie his way out of the situation. He’d been caught red-handed, and now his only option was to try to cut some kind of deal to save himself from the fate he assumed the other two men had in store for him.

  “All right,” he confessed. “I also work for the Ministry of Intelligence.”

  “Tell us something we don’t already know,” Yulim said.

  “In exchange for what?” Dahn said, trying his best to sound calm.

  Major Jin pulled a chair over and then grabbed Dahn from behind, yanking him hard. The sergeant reeled backward and landed hard in the chair. Jin grabbed his right arm and twisted it behind the chair until Dahn let out a pained cry.

  “What makes you think you’re in any position to negotiate?” he demanded.

  “I can tell you what we know,” Dahn offered. “I could turn double-agent for you.”

  Jin released Dahn’s arm and exchanged a glance with Yulim. The commandant, in turn, took the carbine from the guard and told him to leave the bungalow along with his colleague. He waited until both men were gone, then, keeping the rifle trained on Dahn, he said, “One step at a time. First give us a reason to think you’re valuable enough to keep alive. Then we can take it from there.”

  Dahn inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly, then began to divulge what he knew of the Ministry of Internal Intelligence’s efforts to deal with a suspected revival of Operation Guillotine. He touched on the same information he’d discussed with General Oh earlier but provided more details. He named names, including that of the general who’d absconded with Lim Seung-Whan’s yacht after the kidnapping in the Yellow Sea. Yulim and Jin listened intently as Dahn laid it all out, and though they tried to conceal their emotions, the sergeant could tell they were unnerved by the extent of the information MII had managed to gather on their supposedly clandestine plot.

  “And we’ve put together an estimate on your strategy should you pull off the coup,” Dahn concluded.

  “Go on,” Yulim prompted.

  “First I want to know if we’re going to make some kind of a deal,” Dahn said.

  “We still hold all the cards here,” Yulim reminded the sergeant. Then he repeated, “Go on.”

  “You’re going to follow the Khadafi model,” Dahn speculated. “Once you take over, you’ll wave the olive branch and say that North Korea’s days as a rogue nation are over. You’ll tell the West that you want us to end our isolation and join the world community. You’ll say you’ll wash your hands of any nuclear or biochemical activity in exchange for certain concessions. You’
ll say you’ll turn over all your missiles, too, but my guess is the count won’t be accurate.”

  “Meaning what?” Jin asked.

  Dahn responded, “I think the existence of the missiles and warheads kept here will be kept secret because of the price they can earn on the black market. We know that you and a few others in the conspiracy have been regularly dealing with parties in the Middle East. I’d say that will go on regardless of how peace-loving you try to sell yourselves to the West. And even if the U.S. and its allies are suspicious, you probably figure they’ll be willing to look the other way as long as it looks like you’re making good on your overtures.”

  The room fell silent for a moment as Jin and Yulim weighed the implications of Dahn’s disclosure. It was clear to both men that Operation Guillotine was every bit as doomed to failure as its first incarnation earlier the year. And, like it or not, killing Dahn wasn’t going to change matters. The only matter to be determined was how tightly the noose had been drawn around their own necks.

  “How firmly have we been implicated with the plot?” Yulim finally asked.

  Dahn hesitated. MII had already made up its mind that Yulim and Jin were involved in the conspiracy, and his bugging assignment had been merely a formality, a way of providing irrefutable proof for the court-martial that would precede their execution. But Dahn figured his best chance of survival was to put a different spin on matters.

  “You’re both under suspicion,” Dahn said. “But if, say, I were to return to Kaesong saying that you’d checked out clean, it might wash with them.”

  Yulim seized on Dahn’s proposal and ran with it. “The strongest evidence linking me to the conspiracy is the fact that the kidnapping victims were brought here for detainment,” he said. “The appearance must be that I was in collusion with General Chine and helped with the kidnapping to raise money for the coup. I need a way to throw off suspicion.”