Stevenson nodded. “I need to do a count. Can you help me verify it?”
Bolan looked around, then shook his head. “This isn’t the time or place. And we’ll be leaving soon.”
Bolan heard the elevator doors opening behind him. He turned to see two men in short-sleeve khakis step off and begin to walk toward them. One wore a lieutenant’s insignia. The other man was a captain.
Both officers stopped in front of Bolan. Although the captain’s uniform looked freshly pressed and impeccable, his face showed the stubble of a blue-black beard and more than a trace of fatigue.
“Which one of you is Cooper?” the lieutenant asked.
“I am,” Bolan said.
The man turned with deference toward the higher-ranking man.
“I’m Captain Gryczewski,” he said. “Base commander.”
Bolan nodded.
Gryczewski lifted his eyebrows and took a deep breath. “It’s not often I get a call from SecNav at this hour instructing me to get out of bed and loan an F-15 Eagle to a couple of civilians, no less.”
“Aw, hell, Captain,” Grimaldi said. “It’s okay. We’re both vets.”
Gryczewski paused and shook his head slightly. “All I can say is you guys must have some clout. Which one of you is the pilot?”
“That would be me,” Grimaldi said.
The captain gave him a once-over and asked, “You know how to fly an F-15?”
“As long as it’s got wings or rotors,” Grimaldi said, “I can fly it.”
The captain frowned. “That’s reassuring.” He sighed. “But I’m not going to argue with SecNav. I’ve been told to see to this personally, so follow me.”
The two naval officers turned and began walking back toward the elevators.
Bolan turned to Stevenson. “Looks like we’re leaving sooner rather than later. Goodbye and good luck.”
Stevenson smiled sadly. “Despite Henry being almost beaten to death, this was quite the adventure. Keep safe.”
“You don’t need adventures like this one. Take care,” Bolan said as he turned to follow the two naval officers.
Grimaldi gave Stevenson a quick hug and hurried after his old friend.
It was time to head to Culiacán for round two.
Culiacán International Airport
Culiacán, Sinaloa, Mexico
YI WATCHED AS the final pieces of luggage were loaded onto the Iranian’s private Learjet. The plane was sleek, and apparently had enough space that they would not be cramped on their flight back to the homeland. He did feel a bit vulnerable leaving his weapons behind at the resort, but the demonstrated skill of the Black Dragon had been more than sufficient to intimidate both the American and the Russian scientists. They seemed resigned to becoming “guests” of North Korea.
The beating the Dragon had administered to Hudson, after Yi discovered that the computer attachment was encrypted, had served a dual purpose. Not only had it elicited the location of the deciphering codes, Hudson’s laptop, but it had also shown the two scientists that any resistance or lack of cooperation would make them the next targets. Neither man appeared to be much of a fighter.
The Iranian, Basir Farrokhzad, approached Yi and placed a tentative hand on the colonel’s shoulder. Yi turned and regarded him.
“We must be going,” Farrokhzad said. “We are cleared for departure.”
Yi shook his head. “We will not leave until Soo-Han returns with Hudson’s laptop.” He glanced at his watch with a bit of concern. They had been gone over an hour. Perhaps a call was in order. He took out his cell phone and punched in Kim Soo-Han’s number. It rang several times and then went to voice mail.
“Colonel,” Farrokhzad said, his voice pleading now. “We know that the Americans have discovered some, perhaps all, of our plot. Remember, my compatriot in Cuba called hours ago to tell me that they were raiding the ship. I have not been able to reach him since. We must leave.”
Yi listened to Kim’s recorded voice advising that she was not available and to leave a message.
“They might be sending their jets to shoot us down,” the Iranian continued.
“They would not dare,” Yi said. “The Americans are paper tigers.”
“Please. We must leave now.”
Yi glanced at his watch again. “Five minutes more, and then we go.”
He had dispatched Soo-Han and three Black Tigers back to the resort to recover Hudson’s laptop. If they had encountered problems, he could rely on her to find her own way back to the homeland. And with the two scientists and the computer attachment in hand, his return would still appear to be a success. As far as the encryption of the files went, it was justification for keeping Hudson alive awhile longer.
Laptop or not, he would eventually give up the codes, and when he did, he would get his reward, as promised.
Yi smiled at that thought and glanced again at his watch. Three minutes left.
Punta de las Sueños
Culiacán, Sinaloa, Mexico
BOLAN LOOKED AT the collection of dead bodies in the room, four in all, and the scattered bandages and first-aid patches on the three wounded marines.
“As you warned, my friend, they all went down hard.” Martinez motioned toward the body of a dead female. “I feel bad that we had to kill her, but two of my marines hesitated and she shot them. As soldiers, as men, we stand ready to place our lives on the line. But a woman...” He shook his head.
“It doesn’t sound like she gave you much choice,” Bolan said. “What have you found out about her?”
“Her name was Kim Soo-Han. She is registered as being Chinese, with a Chinese passport, but upon closer inspection, I am certain that it will be shown to be a forgery, as will the passports of the others in her party.”
“Where are they?” Bolan asked.
“They are gone. We are checking the airport now.”
“She looks more Korean than Chinese,” Grimaldi said.
“She had been seen in the company of an American named James Hudson,” Martinez said. “He is among the registered guests for—” he paused to read from his pad “—the New International Independent Space Agency.” He flipped the pad closed. “Hudson is also among those listed as missing.”
“Sounds like he was in on it,” Grimaldi said.
“Who else is missing?” Bolan asked.
“In addition to the Chinese, two employees of the space agency company named Terrance Turner and Vassili Nabokovski. I have been told they are rocket scientists.”
“That last name sounds Russian,” Grimaldi said. “You sure he was with an American company?”
Martinez nodded. “That is the information I was given. The owner of the company was named Phillip McGreagor. His body was discovered in his suite, along with those of three men from one of the drug cartels. There are other cartel bodies on-site.”
Bolan had heard of Phillip McGreagor, and pondered the situation. An American space-exploration company, two rocket scientists, one of whom was possibly Russian, and old Soviet-era missiles, all being sought by North Korea... Bolan didn’t like the way this was shaping up.
He squatted to get a closer look at the dead woman.
Martinez’s cell phone rang, and he stepped away to answer it.
Bolan lifted the woman’s body slightly, noticing a black laptop underneath, her left hand still clutching it. He stood, looking around the room. The cabinet by the wall was standing open. Bolan saw that there was a room safe inside, the door of which was ajar.
“I’d like to get a look at that laptop,” Bolan said to Grimaldi, taking out his sat phone. “Let’s see if Hal can convince the State Department to work its magic and cut through some of the red tape.”
He was about to call Brognola when Martinez said, “Madre de Dios!” As the sergeant p
ressed the phone to his ear, his mouth twisted into a frown. He ended the call and turned to Bolan.
“I have just been informed that a private jet left the airport two hours prior to your arrival. Its country of origin was Iran, and there was a group of Asians, a Russian and two Americans on board.”
“What’s their destination?” Bolan asked.
“It is listed as North Korea,” Martinez said.
“Pyongyang?” Bolan asked.
Martinez shook his head. “No, Tang Hae Hong.”
“Tang Hae Hong?” Grimaldi said. “Hey, isn’t that the place where—”
“They launch their intercontinental ballistic missiles,” Bolan said, finishing the sentence for him. He looked at Grimaldi. “Looks like we’re going to North Korea.”
Grimaldi raised both eyebrows. “Yeah, and we’d better hurry up. They’ve got a head start on us, and once they cross the international date line we’ll be a whole day behind.”
12
Osan Air Base
South Korea
Bolan shouldered his ditty bag as he and Grimaldi walked down the Jetway from the transport plane along with the group of arriving troops. They’d both used the seventeen-hour flight to get some much-needed sleep, but Bolan still felt restless. Their target’s three-hour head start from Mexico had now stretched to a solid eight, and he had no doubt the Iranian ship with the missiles was probably close to, if not already in, North Korean territorial waters. He only hoped that Brognola had continued to use his influence and powers of persuasion on those in high places to grease the wheels here in Korea so they could hit the ground running. He decided to find out and reached for his sat phone.
Grimaldi slapped his shoulder and pointed to an Air Force Humvee heading across the tarmac. “I don’t think you’re going to have time to make that call, partner. Want to bet that’s for us?”
Bolan held the phone down by his leg and watched as the Humvee swerved around the line of service personnel and screeched to a halt. An NCO who had been ushering the soldiers and airmen off the plane barked an order for the group to keep moving, did an about-face, came to attention and whipped a salute. The door opened and a fresh-faced second lieutenant jumped out and returned the salute, still moving at a rapid walk.
“Which one of you is Cooper?” he asked.
“I am,” Bolan said.
“I’m Lieutenant Beck.” He extended his hand. “If you’ll step over to the vehicle, I’ll take you to the briefing area.”
Bolan slipped his phone into his pocket and walked toward the Humvee.
Grimaldi, following, said, “Hey, Lieu, that’s not much of a welcome to the Land of the Morning Calm.”
The lieutenant’s mouth twitched into a half grin. “It might not be staying that way much longer. We’re on alert.”
Tang Hae Hong
North Korea
YI WATCHED AND listened as General Song described their progress to their leader over the telephone. Song appeared sober enough, but Yi could detect the vestiges of alcohol seeping from his pores.
A wise general did not celebrate prematurely, he thought. Song would do well to remember that lesson.
But soon it would not matter. With this magnificent success almost at hand, the completion of such an important mission would certainly garner Yi a promotion. Soon he would be Song’s equal in rank. Then he would slowly expel the drunken fool from any serious sphere of influence.
Yi turned to the large trucks that were pulling into place on the concrete docks. The onboard cranes were already hoisting the missiles out of the cargo hold to be transported to the launch preparation site. He hoped the technology they would provide, despite its antiquity, would be enough to bridge the final gap in his country’s missile program. The two scientists would augment this function as well, now that they were guests of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. But even with them, the NIISA computer plans for the long-range reentry system were imperative. He had to unscramble that final obstacle. Then Washington would soon be cowering under the threat of a nuclear launch that could reach not only their shores, but their precious White House, as well. It was the next step in the homeland becoming a new world superpower. Soon the Korean peninsula would no longer be divided, and the American imperialists would be driven from its shores.
Song finished his conversation and hung up. He strode over to Yi, his mouth working like a mouse nibbling on a kernel of rice.
“Why is it taking them so long to unload?” Song asked. “Our beloved leader has already made the announcement of an impending launch. I want the new missiles photographed.”
“That was unwise,” Yi said.
“What did you say?” Song said angrily.
“A wise man does not promise what he cannot deliver,” Yi stated. “These missiles, this technology, must be examined and redesigned. You do not get a harvest of rice from a bag of seeds.”
Song licked his lips. “Nonetheless, it is now time to bask in the glory of our coming greatness.”
Yi nodded, saying nothing more. He had no time to deal with this simpleton.
“Our leader was very impressed with the extent of our success,” Song said.
Our success? Yi resisted the urge to mention that it was his efforts, not Song’s, that had assured the success of the mission.
“He wishes to view the fruits of our labors personally,” Song said. “He will be on his way here shortly.”
“What?”
Song looked as though it was he who was conversing with a simpleton. “I said that our leader is currently attending a commemorative event, and then he will be coming here.”
Yi felt a shiver go up his spine. If the great one arrived, only to discover the reentry technology in an unreadable state, his anger would be immeasurable. Both Yi and Song would face firing squads.
Song smiled, his eyes turning into slits resembling those of a happy pig, unaware that he was marked for the slaughter. “He will be most impressed when he arrives.”
Yi hadn’t been expecting this so soon. He turned his head toward Song. “When is he due to arrive?”
“Tonight. He wishes not only to view our triumph firsthand, but also to lend his presence at the launching of the newest missile in defiance of the Americans.” Song smiled again. “The preparations for the new missile launch have already begun.”
Yi had no doubt that their leader, who had little patience and even less foresight, would fail to grasp that the real triumph here was the successful acquisition of the technology, which would eventually enable them to achieve their goals of interballistic accuracy upon reentry. But just as a spoiled, rich brat did not see the value in a bag of rice seeds, the temperamental man was used to immediate gratification. Yi recalled the execution of many members of the military high command who had dared give their leader an accurate assessment on the state of readiness of the missile systems.
“What time will he be here?” Yi asked.
Song shrugged. “As I said, he is at a commemorative event. Afterward, he will be under way.”
That meant at least a few hours’ respite. The image of their leader’s frowning face again flashed through Yi’s mind.
I must renew my efforts to break the American, he thought. I must decipher those encrypted files.
He took out his cell phone and punched in the number. The Dragon answered immediately.
“Have you taken them all to the appropriate location?” Yi asked.
“Not yet,” the Dragon said. “I was awaiting your instructions.”
“Do it. I will be along shortly.”
He fingered the flash drive, as Hudson called it, in his pocket. The only task left to do now was the final, private interrogation of the hostages. Yi had lost all hope that Kim Soo-Han and the remaining Black Tigers had been successful in retrieving the lapt
op. Perhaps the two scientists could decipher the codes Hudson had placed on the flash drive. If not, Yi had to obtain that information from Hudson himself. Yi knew he would need one of his computer experts to assist. Lieutenant Ran would do nicely. Once the information was assessable, they could get rid of the American.
Everything—the ultimate success or failure of the mission, pleasing his leader, the promotion to general... Everything was now dependent on solving this one last problem.
Yi swallowed and looked at the grinning fool beside him.
If only he knew their lives were hanging in the balance...
Osan Air Base
South Korea
THE HUMVEE STOPPED in front of a building, and as they got out, Bolan glanced at a text he’d received from Brognola during the long flight: Laptop being examined. Belonged to James Hudson, NIISA security honcho. Also, Turner once worked for NASA. Classified government info may have been hacked. Will email you pics of each.
Grimaldi turned the phone so he could read it as well, after which he frowned and said, “This keeps getting better and better.”
Bolan had surmised as much. But something else bothered him. If the North Koreans had already effected an escape from the resort in Mexico, and if they had the two rocket scientists as their prisoners, it made little sense to send a contingent back to the resort for a laptop.
Unless, he thought, there was some pretty significant information on it. Maybe they didn’t have those top secret reentry plans after all. But then again, would they have departed without them?
Lieutenant Beck held the door and Bolan and Grimaldi entered the building. They were ushered down a hallway and into a room that had been darkened to accommodate the image on a large screen on the far wall.
It was obviously a satellite Skype hookup. The man on-screen sat up as they assembled in front of it.
Three men sat in chairs against the wall in the darkened room, off to the right.
“I’m Undersecretary William Howard,” the oversize Skype image of a man said. “I assume you are both rested from your flight?”
Bolan felt little need for small talk. “Can you give us an update on the situation, sir?”
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