Four.
Kwon kicked the door aside, exiting the lab as Phil leaned to his side to keep his handler in view.
Three.
Kwon rushed across the floor of the outer lab, his knee catching on the overturned cabinet, nearly knocking him off his feet, but to Phil’s dismay, he recovered quickly.
Two.
A small control panel on the wall that Phil hadn’t noticed before is ripped open by Kwon. Phil felt his mouth begin to swim with bile.
One.
Phil squeezed his eyes shut as he saw Kwon reach for a button.
But it was too late.
The pulse sounded, sending a rippling feeling of static electricity through his body, and moments later, there was nothing but an eerie silence.
And several screaming North Koreans who began to rain blows upon his body. As the pain began to overtake him, he curled up into a ball, crying out for them to stop, as his mind slowly shutdown. He could feel himself slipping into darkness, and he welcomed the relief, as one thought dominated his mind, above all else including the pain.
In the end, you did the right thing.
Two miles from the coast
Kane saw a flicker in the rearview mirror, then the horizon behind them went dark. A smile spread across his face as he gripped the steering wheel even harder. He didn’t risk taking his eyes off the dark road for a second, but felt the others should know.
“He did it.”
“What?” asked Jason in the front seat with Darius on his lap.
“He did it. The lights just went out at the compound. He must have activated the EMP.”
He felt Carl’s hand on his shoulder, as his other hand slapped Jason on his. “So we can all go home. There’s no more risk.”
Kane had to smile at the naiveté of civilians. A single part of the plan goes correctly, and they think they’re home free. Meanwhile they still had two miles to go to the coast, then they had to make their rendezvous, which was still doubtful.
And he still had a loose end to tie up.
Headlights behind him sent his heart leaping, and his foot pressing harder against the accelerator. “Everybody hang on tight!” he yelled as he saw the road suddenly end ahead. He floored it. The jeep flew across the ditch, hitting the other side with a jolt, but Kane maintained control, roaring down the hill, surveying the area for his outcropping of rock. Spotting it, he turned toward it, then slammed the brakes on, turning off the jeep.
“Carl, with me, everyone else to the beach,” he ordered, jumping out of the jeep and rushing toward the outcropping. He dropped to his knees, reaching under the outcropping blind, praying some nosy local hadn’t found his gear.
Then he felt it.
He grabbed on and pulled hard, the backpack frame, with everything still attached, coming loose easily once he had a good grip. “Grab the other end,” he said to Carl, then grabbed the front, and the two of them carried it down to the beach like a stretcher. Once at the water he dropped it to the ground, then pulled the first bundle off, pulling a rip cord and tossing the bundle at the water. “Peterson’s inside that, now!”
He pulled the other bundle, yanked the ripcord, and threw it at the water, then pulled the final bundle, and tossed it into the rapidly inflating boat. He saw the Peterson’s had already grabbed the sides of their boat, and were walking it deeper into the water, the experienced Peterson guiding his family. Kane noticed it had enough rigidity for them to get in.
“Peterson’s, in now, assemble your paddles, and paddle as fast as you can away from the shore. Anyone not paddling, lays low!” Maggie placed Darius in the boat, then helped Ayla inside, then tumbled over the side herself, followed quickly by Jason. Kane rushed to the side of his boat. “Shephard’s in!” The son jumped in, followed by his mother and father, then Kane followed, grabbing the paddles and assembling them, handing the first to Carl, then once assembled, dipping his into the water. He and Carl quickly had a good rhythm going, and soon caught up to the Peterson’s who were struggling, Maggie’s inexperience hampering them.
“Look!” yelled Phoebe.
Kane looked behind them to where she was pointing and a row of headlights lined the shore, their beams interrupted as their occupants jumped out. Small flashes suddenly appeared, and the sound of gunfire quickly followed.
“Faster!” yelled Kane, who then looked at Charlie on the floor. “Kid, grab that line and toss it to the other boat.” The teenager nodded, grabbing the rope he was lying on top of, and hurling it toward the other slower craft. Peterson caught it and tied it to the front of their boat, then resumed rowing. Kane could feel the tug from the slower boat, but at least now they were together, and no one would be left behind. A shot whipped by his ear, and he handed the oar to Charlie. “You row.” The boy, showing remarkable courage, jumped up and took his position opposite his father, rowing like an expert. Kane pulled the Chinese made AK 47 from the third bundle, then opened fire on the beach, aiming for the lights rather than the men. The gunfire ceased, and a few of the lights were taken out, but as they regrouped, he slung the spent weapon over his shoulder, realizing that his muzzle flashes would only reveal their position.
They were making good time, and rather than take over from the strong, experienced teenager, he peered ahead, into the darkness, but saw nothing.
Where the hell are they?
Suddenly he heard bullets pinging off metal to his left. He turned and saw the dark silhouette of their rendezvous, the USS Buffalo, blocking out the stars as it loomed overhead.
“Left!” he yelled, and he saw Charlie dip his oar, holding it stationary as the boat turned, then resume his paddling as they closed in on the looming mass. Suddenly muzzle flashes erupted, illuminating the entire length of the submarine. He turned back and saw the shore position being torn apart, the vehicles quickly going dark, the men that survived scattering.
They hit the side of the hull, and he heard shouts from overhead as lines were thrown to them. Kane helped Charlie up first, then Phoebe, and finally Carl, before climbing up himself. He rushed down the deck, pulling on the ropes with the Peterson’s, the crew of the sub ushering everyone down an access hatch to safety.
Kane turned to the senior man on the deck, flashed him a salute, and with his bundle in hand, jumped overboard, and back into the dark, cold waters.
Outside the International Cooperation Center, North Korea
Kane peered through the scope of his Chinese made QBU-88 sniper rifle, scanning the entire compound for any activity that might indicate where Phil Hopkins might be. After jumping off the submarine, he had made the chilly swim to further down shore from their pursuers, then pretty much sprinted the six miles back, only twice having to avoid patrols. It was exhausting, it was grueling, it was something he’d done before, and probably would do again.
And it was absolutely necessary.
For Phil Hopkins was the last loose end. With the other scientists and their families safely aboard an American submarine, heading to Okinawa and home, and with the research destroyed, he had to take care of Hopkins. And unfortunately, rescue was not an option. He had done the wrong thing, but in the end, had come clean, done the right thing, and in Kane’s mind, restored some of his honor. Restoring it all was impossible. The man had betrayed his country, his friends, and his principles, all for greed.
Kane had no doubt the North Koreans were going to kill the poor guy, but it would be weeks if not months from now, after unimaginable torture. Torture no human being deserved to go through.
Kane saw activity at the International Cooperation Center and swung his scope back to the main entrance.
Bingo!
He saw Hopkins, between two guards clad in blue jumpsuits, barely able to walk, his white dress shirt torn and stained dark with blood. His face was almost unrecognizable.
Let’s end this for you, shall we?
Kane squeezed the trigger, and Hopkins dropped a moment later, his upper torso now sporting a six inch hole in the back. Kane sa
id a silent prayer as he abandoned the Chinese—not¬ American—weapon, heading back to his prearranged backup rendezvous with a potato delivery truck.
Li’s Photo, Zhongguancun E Plaza, Beijing, China
Kane knew the sign said closed, but he never let a locked door stop him. He quickly had it picked, and stepped inside. Noises were coming from deeper inside, in Chinese, and Kane had to strain to hear what was being said.
“Don’t you dare finish first.”
“Then hurry up woman, I’m not made of lead.”
Kane bit his finger, trying not to laugh.
“I’m getting close.”
Kane bumped into the counter, making a noise.
“Somebody’s there,” said Chan.
“I don’t care, don’t you dare stop or I’ll never let you touch me again.”
“Don’t make threats woman that I actually want you to keep.”
“You’re an ass, husband, you—are—an—ass!”
Moans and grunts and cries and all the other animalistic sounds of a successful bump and grind session erupted, and Kane squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against his ears. The mental image presented to his closed eyelids forced him to open his eyes again.
“Now who the hell is out there?” yelled Chan.
“It’s just me,” said Kane in English.
“Ohh, big boy, you come in here now!”
It sounded like an order from Chan’s wife that he better obey. Kane stepped into the back room to find Chan’s tiny wife still on top of him, her head resting on his chest.
He’s right, the parts don’t line up.
“What the hell do you want?” asked Chan.
“Just wondering if I’m still rogue.”
Chan shook his head. “No, you’ve been cleared. Your package is sitting right there.” He nodded toward a brown manila envelope sitting on top of a stack of papers. Kane picked it up and peered inside. Wallet, ID, passport, plane ticket, cash. He smiled and winked at the couple.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“Bullshit. Did you hear the news?”
“No, what?”
“The North Koreans are claiming the EMP you set off was a successful nuke test.”
Kane chuckled. “Anything to save face.”
Chan laughed, then motioned toward the door with his chin. “Now get the hell out of here before my wife decides she wants to upgrade.”
Kane laughed, saluting with the file, then headed out the door and to the Hilton Beijing, where one very lost Tom Pile would like his room and luggage, if possible, for his last night in Beijing.
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
Chris Leroux stepped into Director Morrison’s office and took a seat, as did Sherrie White. There was no doubt in Morrison’s mind that the two kids were now in a relationship. The question was, what to do about it, if anything. If they were just two analysts, he’d ignore it unless it became too blatant, but they weren’t. He was an analyst, and she was an agent, albeit junior agent.
And already she’s in an unauthorized relationship.
Or was she? Morrison had to admit he wasn’t sure if the relationship was mutual. She could be just taking her cover to the extreme—some of the female agents treating sex like much ado about nothing. He was old fashioned. A one woman guy, married for more years than he could count, and faithful the entire time. But kids nowadays thought sex was just a three letter word, and life was a rap video, where everyone was having sex with everybody.
He hoped for Leroux’s sake that wasn’t the case. He was a good kid, a loner, who deserved to be happy, even if it was only for a short while.
When the door was closed by his aide, he held up his finger, indicating silence, then removed a small device from his desk drawer. He activated the radio frequency jammer as an added precaution against any eavesdropping.
“I just wanted to congratulate you two on the excellent work you’ve done over the past few days. You’ll be happy to know that we were able to successfully rescue two of the scientists and their families, destroy the research, and eliminate the third scientist who had initiated this entire thing.”
Leroux and White exchanged excited glances, and Morrison saw pinkies touch for a moment.
“As well, we’ve taken down BlackTide, and begun an investigation into how far their ties go, and how deep into the government this may stretch. But there’s one thing I need you to look into, that has been kept off the official record.”
Leroux leaned forward. “What’s that?”
Morrison could hear the eagerness in his voice, could tell the young man wanted in, but Morrison also knew the dangers.
“Now, this is strictly voluntary. It could be extremely dangerous. We don’t know who these people are, or how high up they go, or even if they’re real, but if you take on this project, you could become a target again.”
Leroux blanched a little, then sucked in a deep breath.
“If I don’t do it, will someone else have to?”
Morrison nodded. “It’s too important to ignore.”
“Then I guess that settles it. I’m in.”
Morrison’s respect for Leroux ratcheted up a few more notches, and he could see the visible effect it had on his young female companion, who stared at him with bright eyed pride.
“Here’s what we know about them,” said Morrison, holding open an empty file folder. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. Except what they are called.”
Morrison leaned forward, lowering his voice.
“The Assembly.”
Chris Leroux Residence, Fairfax Towers, Falls Church, Virginia
Chris was devastated. He had held himself together for the drive home, for the sweep of his apartment, and for the goodbye to the security detail as he closed his door, but then any bit of self-control he had was lost. He dropped onto the couch, and sobbed, oblivious to the fact the apartment had been put back together as if no shootout had occurred here the night before.
His heart was ripping in pieces. After the meeting, Sherrie had asked to talk to the Director alone. He had left, puzzled, and returned to his desk to begin setting up the dummy accounts that just might protect him from The Assembly, when a man entered his office and introduced himself. He was the new head of his security detail.
“What about Sherrie?”
“She requested reassignment.”
“Why?”
The man shrugged his shoulders. “No clue. Job was done, I guess. I’ll be heading your new protection detail.” And then there had been an hour long get to know you session that Chris could barely remember a word of, his answers delivered on autopilot as his mind reeled with the news Sherrie was gone.
He hugged the pillow under his head tighter, the tears burning his eyes as his chest heaved. I swear I’ll never love anyone again. It’s just not worth the pain. He bit the pillow, trying to drown out the agony, when he heard a throat clear behind him.
He jumped up, nearly shitting his pants, to find Kane standing in the hallway.
“Sorry, dude, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Leroux’s pain was quickly replaced by shame as he wiped the tears off his face, and looked at his friend standing there, beer in hand.
“I thought I’d let myself in and surprise you. Guess I should have knocked.”
Chris still said nothing, instead sitting up and staring at the floor. Kane approached and sat down on the other end of the couch.
“Women problems?”
Chris burned red, but nodded.
“Want me to kill her?”
Chris laughed, something he hadn’t thought he’d do for a long time after this latest devastation in his personal life, and glanced at Kane who had a grin on his face.
“I can do it you know. They’ll never find the body.”
Chris sat up and curled one leg under the other, looking at his friend, perhaps his only friend.
“She requested reassignment.”
Kane nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face.
“That’s tough, dude. Real harsh.”
“You have no idea.”
“Trust me, it happens to everybody at least once. Just remember though, if it works out in the end, all the earlier heartbreaks are worth it.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll be avoiding relationships for a decade or two.”
There was a knock on the door.
Kane held up his hand.
“I’ll get it,” he said, putting the beer down and standing up. Chris noticed Kane gripped a gun tucked into his belt as he stepped into the hallway. The door opened, and he heard murmurs, then the click of the door closing. “Look what I found begging at the door,” said Kane’s voice.
Chris looked up and saw Sherrie standing there, a huge smile on her face, and an overnight bag in her hand.
“Care for some company?” she asked.
Chris’ heart leapt and the thousand shards it had been ripped into suddenly repaired themselves like a magician’s torn newspaper. He jumped from the couch, then stopped.
“But—I don’t understand? You requested reassignment!”
“Of course I did, silly. I can’t very well have a relationship with you, and be your bodyguard.”
“You mean—” Chris couldn’t bring himself to hope, let alone finish, the words.
Sherrie suddenly looked crestfallen, her jaw dropping and tears filling her eyes. She dropped her bag and walked toward him, arms outstretched. “Did you think I dumped you, that I was just pretending this entire time?”
Chris felt the tears burning again, and tried to fight them back, not wanting to embarrass himself. He looked away.
Sherrie wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest. “You silly man. What kind of a girl do you think I am?”
Chris felt the pit in his stomach replaced with butterflies as she looked up at him, and he down at her. He kissed her gently, the passion growing, until he remembered they weren’t alone. He forced himself away, turning to his friend.
Rogue Operator (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #1) Page 27