As two hands reached up to pull it down into the water, Stidham slid a backpack wrapped in a black plastic bag into the hole. Then both Stidham and Hernandez slid the black rum-shaped barrel down over the edge. It had little buoyancy and clanked on the sides as it slid down into the water. Black straps encircled the drum, providing a good grab-hold.
“I’ll go next,” said Hernandez. He slipped down into the opening, followed by Stidham.
“Thanks, Skipper.” Will smiled at the lieutenant and slid his feet into the hole. He saluted as he descended into the black water. The water’s coldness penetrated the suit, feeling like a cool dip in an unheated swimming pool in early summer. Will was impressed with the suit’s ability to keep him comfortable even as the shock of cold water hit the exposed parts of his face.
As he slid down the ladder, Will felt his feet touch a sandy bottom. He saw the red circle of light above him, and as his eyes adjusted, the red illuminated the ocean’s floor in a large circle. Round, smooth boulders dotted the ocean floor. He turned toward the nose of the submarine to orient himself toward shore. Will detected the shapes of the others, then saw them donning long black fins. His eyes quickly adjusted to the low light and, touching each man on the shoulder, he pointed toward the west.
In silence, they headed in a snakelike motion toward the shore. Will felt the sea surge as he swam across the increasingly rocky floor. In the dark, his only senses were the taste of rubber in his mouth and the sound of air sucked in from his rebreather. The Russian device, similar to that made for U.S. Navy SEALs, released no air bubbles. After some time, he stopped, gathered the team together, gave them a hand signal to wait, and slid up to the surface.
The cold air struck his face as Will broke through a wave. Icy snowflakes hit his cheeks as he turned toward the shoreline. He was just out of the breakers, feeling the ocean as it ran past him. The shore was barely visible beyond the white-foamed waves crashing into jagged black boulders. Will quickly circled several times, unable to detect the slightest movement.
Searching the shoreline for a break in the rocks and surf, Will quietly kicked up-shore for several meters toward the north, until he saw a small beach no longer than two men laid end to end. Strapped to his wrist was a digital compass, from which he took a bearing. He backtracked to where he had surfaced, then submerged. Finding his team, he signaled them to the north.
Chapter 35
On the Shoreline of North Korea
After several minutes, they moved up-shore. Each man swam in below the surf until they could stand with only their heads above the water. Will led them through the tumbling waves and driving snowstorm to the break in the rocks. There, they quickly pulled their packs and barrel ashore, and each took a point.
Will signaled Moncrief that he was going forward, then silently slipped around one truck-sized boulder and quickly disappeared. The roar of the surf pounded on the rocks surrounding them. Each slipped their weapons out of protective covers and held them locked outbound from the center. Moncrief scanned the rocks above.
“Gunny.”
Moncrief was surprised by Will’s sudden appearance behind him. “Damn, sir,” he whispered.
“A small river runs into the bay about fifty meters to our right. It goes up into the mountains just over there.” Will pointed up, toward what appeared to be a divide in the rocks. “There’s a bridge on the coastal highway.” Will had remembered this spot from the countless hours spent in the training room with the three-dimensional VR maps.
“What’s the plan?” asked Moncrief.
“Simple. We erect the tent in those rocks at the base of the bridge and you get out of here before first light.”
“Okay.” Moncrief clearly still didn’t like the idea of the team breaking up, and his tone said as much.
Will led the team, one by one, in a slow, quiet move around the rocks and boulders and up off the small beach. Only a few meters up, Moncrief saw the outline of an old, gray cement bridge. In the driving snowstorm, a flat roadway that paralleled the coastline was barely visible. He could tell it was a road only because of an occasional post marking its outline. He pointed to Stidham to keep a lookout to the north while he scanned the roadway to the south, expecting a coastal surveillance vehicle at any moment.
Near the base of the bridge, sheltering a small patch of sand, were two giant boulders, both capped with freshly fallen snow. Will pointed to the spot and used hand signals to direct the next move.
Hernandez and Stidham pulled up one of the oversized packs and took from it a small mountain tent. In a flash, the tent was up, snow quickly accumulating on its camouflaged sides.
“Sir, I’m not sure this is the best spot,” said Moncrief.
“It’s fine,” said Will.
“But anyone looking from that bridge can see it.”
“The snowfall should camouflage it well. Put the barrel there,” he told Moncrief. To all of them, he said, “Give me the two other packs, and then run a quick scouting mission north and south.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied, piling up the extra packs and barrel next to the tent. Then they moved north, then south, for several hundred meters. Each man made every effort to move on the rocks at their base so as to leave little imprint, although the snow was now coming down in sheets. They doubled back to Will.
Will suited up in the Spetsnaz winter uniform, a hooded, one-piece KLMK Soviet-designed camouflage coverall, its patterning a patchwork of white, black, and brown. When he pulled down the hood and face mask, he became part of the blizzard pelting him. Over his left shoulder, he hoisted one pack, also camouflaged in white, black, and brown streaks; another pack went over his right shoulder. A black shoulder holster held the type-64 pistol. Its long silencer extended well below the holster. The black 50-gallon drum lay on its side near the tent.
“Okay, return to the mini-sub and wait for my signal,” said Will. “Remember: If no signal by 2200 tomorrow, return to the Florida.”
“Yes, sir.” Moncrief picked up the pack as the other men grabbed the remaining gear and worked their way down to the water’s edge. They slid into the surf, backing out and dragging the big drum and the remaining packs.
“Gunny,” said Hernandez, grabbing Moncrief just as a wave hit both of them in their backs.
“Yeah.”
“The barrel’s floating. We’ll need to take off the lid to sink it.”
“Do it.”
Hernandez pried the lid off the black oil drum. As the water rushed in, it gave off a white cloud of steam. The next wave caught its open face and sent it to the bottom.
“I hope he didn’t want that,” said Hernandez.
“Nah, he already emptied it. Let’s go.”
Good luck, boss, Moncrief thought as he took one last glance at the North Korean coastline, pulled his mask down, and slid quietly into the surf.
Chapter 36
A Tokyo Hotel
“Do you need two keys to your room, sir?”
“No.”
The hotel clerk bowed to the guest as she gave him the key. “Do you have an interest in our symphony?” she asked.
“Possibly, yes.”
“Our concierge may have tickets remaining for tonight. She’s at the desk on the other side of the lobby.”
The clerk was referring to the Tokyo Orchestra. The Kinshicho Marriott, part of an interconnected row of modern silver and glass buildings, included the symphony hall. It was the tallest part of a commercial complex in the center of one of suburban Tokyo’s many commercial districts. This particular district was to the east of Tokyo, along a growth of buildings and suburbs that connected the city to Narita Airport.
Rei was not a music fan, but attending this concert might serve a good purpose. The day before, he had taken the Tokyo subway to the Kinshicho station and walked the two blocks to the hotel complex. There, he’d noticed something he did
not like: A well-dressed young man reading a Japanese newspaper in the Marriott lobby. It was not the newspaper that disturbed Rei. It was the small and barely noticeable earpiece he’d been wearing.
Rei had passed him quickly, making a point not to glance back at him. As he rode the taxi back to Keio Plaza, where he had begun his Tokyo stay, Rei realized the only way to penetrate security was to be on the inside.
“And I have you down for a five-day stay,” said the hotel clerk.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And this is for business?”
“Of course, yes,” said Rei.
“We’re required to examine your passport.”
“Yes.” He handed her an American passport with another false name. This time, he was pretending to be a Japanese-American returning to Tokyo on an annual visit to the corporate headquarters of a Japanese electronics maker.
Rei took his passport back and approached the concierge. “Madam?”
“Oh yes, sir?”
“I’m interested in two tickets to tonight’s symphony,” Rei said, playing the odds. Buying two tickets would be less suspicious, even if the seat next to him remained empty. More important, a concert in the building adjoining the hotel would be a likely social activity for the science-conference attendees, thus potentially affording him his best opportunity.
“They’re rather expensive,” she said. “The concert’s nearly sold out.”
“Yes, how much?” He did not want to appear too easy or too quick.
“Two in the orchestra for thirty-two thousand yen apiece.”
“Anything less?”
“Two in the second balcony for twenty-eight thousand yen apiece,” she said.
He paused for a moment. “Let me call you.” This suggested he had to consult with someone else, though not his wife—he wore no wedding ring.
Rei took the elevator to the sixth floor and checked into room 606. His window looked out over the vast expanse of Tokyo. Directly below, a bright red express train running between Tokyo station and Narita Airport flew through the Kinshico station. He knew this for certain. Such express trains were always bright red. In the distance, a Ferris wheel that rose as high as any skyscraper dominated the city’s skyline. At the harbor near Odaiba, a suburb of Tokyo, the lights were a circus of red, yellow, and blue.
Sometime later, Rei called down to the concierge and ordered two tickets. He bought the less expensive balcony seats to further lessen any attention. The tickets would be delivered to his room before the concert began. Rei took a hot shower that steamed up the windows to his room, then lay down to rest before his big night.
* * * *
Several time zones away, the net was closing. The Saturday morning meeting in the FBI’s SIOC operation center had been scheduled, albeit at the last minute, for 6 a.m.
“Tom, what’s going on?” Dave Creighton knew the agent well enough to know that an impromptu meeting suggested a major development.
“Sir, I was contacted last night by Joan.”
“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Tom, looking as sharp at six on a Saturday morning as he would at a Wednesday afternoon meeting. “I understand our man has remained in Japan.”
“Oh?” said Creighton.
The two other men in the room leaned forward in their chairs. The meeting had taken a new direction and possibly a new urgency.
“Who are the likely targets in Japan again?” asked Creighton.
“There are four,” said Samuel Wilhelm. “Two in Kyoto, one in Wako, and one in Tokyo. But the one based in Tokyo is presently attending a conference at Cal Tech.”
“What do the Japanese say?”
“They’ve placed security around each of the scientists.”
“What about DOD, Commander? Any comment from them?” Creighton looked to the black-sweatered naval officer.
“Nothing yet,” said Commander Sawyer. “And I should apologize for Admiral Krowl’s absence. He’s presently involved in a top-secret mission and is on twenty-four-hour watch at the operations center.”
“Understood. So, the scope narrows. Any suggestions?”
“Sir,” said Pope, “we can send a team to Japan to coordinate with Japanese Defense and the police.”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” said Creighton, “but, Tom, I need you to stay here. If anything starts to move fast, I don’t want you eight thousand miles away.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * * *
At that same moment, Rei slipped his coat on, straightened his tie in the mirror, and slid a bright gold dragon ring, backwards, onto his finger.
As the elevator door opened to the Marriott’s marble and glass lobby, a throng of symphony-goers—men in black ties and suits, women in long, sparkling dresses—milled around. In the fringes of the crowd, Rei noticed several young men, separate and alone, their small ear devices barely visible. Rei made a point of staying in the center of the throng as they moved up the escalators and toward the walkways connecting to the symphony hall.
As the crowd merged through the symphony hall’s entry doors, Rei saw an older woman, surrounded by three young men dressed like the other security men. He immediately recognized her face.
Well-protected, aren’t you?
All was to his advantage. Despite the ring of protection, the target was out of her element. The large crowd would give him cover and opportunity. He slumped down in his seat, well to the rear of the balcony’s railing, but with a good view of the entire hall. His target had been seated—sans her security detail—in the fifth row of the orchestra section. As the orchestra played Beethoven, Rei leaned back, his hands together, feeling the bulk of the ornate ring against his palm, patiently devising his plan.
Just before the concert ended, Rei worked his way down to the hall’s main floor, spotting an empty seat near the rear wall and well in the dark. Shortly after he sat, the lights came on and a rush of people converged on the main exit. He remained seated, casually talking in fluent Japanese to the couple sitting next to him, suggesting that an ill family member had caused him to miss much of the concert. He purposely stayed, waiting and watching as the professor made her way up the center aisle by herself, her security waiting in the lobby.
Now, he thought. He stood, bowed to the couple, worked his way into the exiting crowd and waited, not turning toward the main aisle until the last possible second. Then he moved toward the professor and turned the ring around.
She was close—so close now he could smell her sweet floral perfume. He reached forward to touch her, but just as he did, a short, balding Japanese man stepped in front, forcing him back.
Damn, he thought, as she smiled at him. He took the lead in front of her and moved past Rei, watching the crowd for trouble.
Perfect, he thought, now steps behind the professor. He nudged past other concertgoers until he was shoulder to shoulder with his target. The pin of the ring just brushed her arm, above the elbow, inflicting what felt like a mere scratch. She barely noticed it, no more than when one brushes against the lip of a counter and feels, ever so briefly, a rough, pointed edge. She walked a few more steps before suddenly arching her back, then crumpling to the floor.
The crowd parted, trying not to step on her, while others pushed forward, unaware, like drivers piling into one another while gawking at a stalled car on the shoulder. Rei knew what would happen now. He had no desire to stay and watch, and easily moved through the crowd and out onto the street.
Rei walked at a normal pace, as if in no hurry, passing by the entrance to the Marriott Hotel. He had planned to abandon what few clothes he had in his room. It would be too great a risk for him to be seen leaving the hotel with a bag shortly after the concert. A day later, the housekeeping crew would report that his bed had not been slept in the previous night. By that point, he kn
ew it would not matter.
En route to Kinshicho Station, Rei, still on foot, merged with the crowd, passing the lights of several department stores and the brighter, circus-like atmosphere of the pachinko Ginza parlors. Noisy, flashing lights from these gambling halls lined the street toward the train station.
Rei pulled up his coat collar, blocking the cold wind, and moved with the crowd into the station. He smiled as he passed his transit card, already paid for, through the gate.
It’s over, he thought, satisfied that his final mission had been accomplished.
He didn’t take the next train to Narita. Instead, he took the blue line, back toward Tokyo Station. There, he moved quickly up the stairs, through the crush of people and several hallways, to a down escalator marked Narita Express. Rei had already reserved seats on several of the express trains, across a spread of times, knowing that one would coincide with the timing of his escape.
As his train left Tokyo Station, it built up such speed that Rei could hear the wind whistle in the connectors between the cars. He leaned back and closed his eyes until he felt the car brake. Above the train, he saw the high rise of the Kimshicho Tobu Marriott and, looking forward, the lights of Kinshicho Station, which he had left only shortly before. The station’s several platforms were now covered with police talking to every traveler. Many of the male travelers were dressed in tuxedos and the women in long gowns.
The Narita express slowed but did not stop, its destination far, far away.
* * * *
“Tom?”
“Yeah?” Pope’s voice sounded drugged with sleep. He had left the SIOC’s center only a few hours before, another grueling sixteen-hour day behind him.
“This is Mac Howard.”
“Yeah, Mac.”
Howard, who worked the SIOC’s graveyard shift, was in the loop on Pope’s operation. “No need to send the team,” he said.
“Oh?” said Tom. He had wondered whether they might be too slow responding to the lead in Japan.
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