The surviving soldier, an officer by the look of him, turned and pointed his gun at the Executioner. A three-round burst from Bolan’s MP-5 dropped him. The Executioner moved forward, sweeping the area as he went, but the inflated burlap bag impeded his view. Abruptly, he felt a powerful kick knock him back against the wall. He tried to bring the MP-5 around to fire at his assailant, a solidly built Korean, but the bag had become snarled in the weapon’s slide, causing a jam.
Bolan grabbed the cocking lever to clear the machine gun, but the Korean was too quick. He grabbed the barrel and the stock and tried to twist the weapon out of Bolan’s hands. The Executioner responded with a knee to the other man’s groin, but his aim was slightly off. When he kneed his attacker’s abdomen, it felt like a tree trunk. He felt his back strike the wall again as his opponent surged forward, then kicked him in the stomach and rolled backward, executing a judo throw. Bolan sailed through the air and then landed hard on the floor.
He felt the jammed weapon being ripped from his grasp. The Korean tore at the bag, attempting to clear the blockage, but Bolan lashed out with his right foot and kicked the MP-5 from his adversary’s hands. He rolled to his feet and felt a sharp pain in his left knee as the Korean’s instep slammed into it. Bolan’s leg gave out, sending him to the floor.
The other man leaped forward, sending a stomping blow toward Bolan’s head. The Executioner managed to dodge it, his ear only inches from the hard slap of the other man’s boot on the concrete.
Bolan used his momentum to roll left. He was on all fours, about to regain his footing, when he felt the sharp pain of a front kick in his rib cage. Staggering backward, he raised his arms just in time to block a vicious roundhouse kick aimed at his head. He brought his elbow down on the Korean’s thigh, causing him to recoil, but if he’d felt the blow, his face did not show it.
The Korean assumed a classic fighting stance, and Bolan did the same. The other man’s left foot whipped forward in a front kick, and when Bolan lowered his arm to block it, the Korean pivoted and transformed the kick into another roundhouse, smacking into Bolan’s face. The Executioner staggered back a step, his opponent pressing forward. In a split second, Bolan saw an opening and sent a quick, hard jab into the Korean’s face. His head snapped back, minimizing the blow, but Bolan stepped forward and delivered a straight right that knocked the man backward.
The Korean recovered quickly, and his gaze shifted to the MP-5, which lay a few feet away.
In a split second both men rushed for it, grabbing the weapon and struggling for a dominant grip. Their bodies crashed together and they fell in a heap, with the Korean twisting so that he landed on top. Bolan jerked the weapon free as his adversary struggled to regain his grasp, and tore the burlap bag away from the ejection port, the remnants of the tape sagging downward.
He rolled away from the Korean, brought the barrel around and pulled the trigger, firing a three-round burst into the man’s chest. He collapsed to the floor, dead.
“The rest of the building is clear,” Wilson said as Bolan got to his feet.
“Looks like we have to police some brass,” Park said, bending to pick up the expended shell casings from the MP-5.
“Be my guest,” Bolan said.
Park immediately began to check the bodies, kicking away any weapons he found. He turned over the corpse of Bolan’s hand-to-hand opponent and stepped back in surprise.
“This is Gumon Yoong,” Park said. “He is called the Black Dragon.”
“He’s the Dead Dragon now,” Grimaldi said.
The pilot went to the two men shackled to the cot. He knelt and examined them. “You guys all right?”
“You’re an American?” one asked.
Grimaldi nodded.
“Thank God,” the man said.
“This is Colonel Yi Sun-Shin,” Park said, examining the uniformed officer Bolan had shot.
“This one’s still alive,” Wilson said, helping the man on the floor to sit up.
Bolan recognized him as James Hudson.
Hudson managed to raise what appeared to be a shattered hand. “Get that flash drive.” He pointed to the piece of red plastic extending from the laptop in the grasp of the third dead North Korean soldier.
Grimaldi scooted across the floor and snatched it, then took the laptop, as well.
“We must recover all the brass and remove the bodies,” Park said, patting the burlap sack taped to his weapon. “Bury them. Your grenade fragments, as well. As I said, no one must know we were here.”
“Hell,” Grimaldi said. “Why not just load ’em in the helicopter and drop them somewhere discreet?”
Park glanced at Wilson, who in turn looked at Bolan. “Well, we had another exit planned, but...”
“Why crawl when you can fly?” Grimaldi asked.
Bolan glanced at his watch. “May I suggest we seriously consider that suggestion before any more Black Tigers happen our way?”
“That sounds like a good plan,” Park said with a grin. “If they see it’s one of theirs, they probably won’t fire on us. And we don’t have to go through that damn tunnel again.”
Epilogue
Stony Man Farm
Virginia
The image on the big screen in Brognola’s office showed a fiery explosion as a missile lifted off the launch pad, hesitated and fell downward, causing an even greater blast.
“So much for the glorious leader’s latest missile threat,” Brognola said with a grin.
He poured two cups of coffee, walked over and set them in front of Bolan and Grimaldi. “Mr. Hudson’s in custody and being charged with numerous crimes and misdemeanors, and both of the rocket scientists are recovering nicely. You guys did a hell of job.”
“We didn’t recover the missiles the Black Tigers stole from Panama,” Bolan said. He hated leaving any part of a job undone.
“Actually,” Brognola said, leaning forward, “this was one time we really did cover all the bases. Unbeknownst to almost everyone, the Agency sent a team down to Panama shortly after the missiles were originally seized.” He paused to pick up his own mug and took a sip. “As you know, fifty-plus years ago the Soviets took all the nuclear triggers out of them, and I was recently informed our guys removed all the guidance systems from the old missiles. The ones the North Koreans and the Iranians got were just old hollow shells.”
“So that’s why our undersecretary of defense was so adamant about not worrying about the missiles?” Bolan asked.
Brognola nodded.
“It would have been nice of them to tell us beforehand,” Grimaldi said.
“Well, you know I always say that the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand’s doing,” Brognola mused. “This was just another example of it.”
The Executioner remained silent, thinking about the challenges of his never-ending war. This time things had worked out for the good guys. What would tomorrow bring? He had no idea, but he would be ready to face it head-on—as always.
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781488010118
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Michael A. Black for his contribution to this work.
Missile Intercept
Copyright © 2016 by Worldwide Library
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