Hollow Point

by Rawlin Cash

  Cameras flashed, the crowd cheered, and the secret service stayed stone-cold—their eyes darting from left to right.

  In twenty-four hours, Raynor was going to be back aboard Air Force One.

  At least, that was what he thought.

  Eleven

  Sinking or staying afloat. Fawn couldn't quite place the feeling. She'd brought Hunter back because she'd felt guilty about the past. Still, she knew it was a risk. She wondered if she needed to be harder. She wondered if she was too soft.

  She'd accepted the role of Deputy Director of Paramilitary Black Ops after Hale had been promoted to President Meredith's staff. Before leaving the CIA, Hale had told her to "not trust anyone."

  He was such a patronizing asshole.

  That was the first lesson she'd learned at the CIA.

  And she'd learned it from him.

  He'd lied to her so many times.

  But then there was Hunter.

  She trusted him.

  There was something in his eyes.

  A truth.

  An honesty.

  And despite the awful things he'd done, there was an innocence, too.

  She stood at the terminal of Dulles airport in DC. She was there to pick up Hunter and Hank.

  The airport was busy on account of the season. Loved ones were crisscrossing the country, getting ready for Christmas. Fawn saw a warmth in each of their faces. Before long, they'd all have their feet up by the fire and be drinking warm cocoa. She'd given up too much, she'd thought.

  As she stood there, at the arrivals, she lost herself in a daze of thought.

  Hunter walked up to her.

  He was holding a duffel bag and had a big smirk on his face.

  "You miss me," he said.

  Fawn nearly jumped.

  Hunter winked at her.

  Hank walked up behind Hunter. He had on his sunglasses, a Hawaiian t-shirt and was pulling his suitcase.

  Fawn turned to Hank. "You were supposed to keep an eye on him. Keep him out of trouble."

  Hank shrugged. "We weren't exactly expecting a Chinese special forces to show up, ma'am."

  "I want to know everything," Fawn said. "Director Asher is pissed off. The media reporting the death of Chinese doctor in an Amsterdam brothel. I take it, that’s the same doctor who had the Mantis files.”

  Hunter still had the smirk on his face. “Yes,” he said. “The guy killed himself… or, I don’t know."

  "And Hank told me there was a girl?"

  Hunter leered back at Hank. He gave him a look that made it clear Hank had crossed the line. After making sure that Hank got the hint, Hunter turned to Fawn. "I had a bit of fun, yeah."

  "You're lying."

  "I'll tell you everything you want to know."

  "How did Doctor Lin die?"

  “He had some sort of kill device on him. It released a toxic gas into the air.”

  "Do you know that for sure?"

  Hunter shrugged. "It's an educated guess. I had to run out of there.”

  Fawn rolled her eyes. "You realize that an educated guess is not what I'm interested in right now? I need proof. Do you have it?"

  "What do you think?"

  Fawn sighed. She wanted to scream, but she knew it would draw too much attention from everyone else in the busy airport. She wanted to let every bit of anger out of her. Instead of letting her emotions get the best of her, she took a deep breath, looked at him, and said in a slow and controlled voice, "You owe me."

  Hunter looked at her. "I know."

  If she were Hale, she would have threatened his life. She would have threatened him with a lifetime in solitary confinement in some CIA-controlled black site. But she was different than Hale.

  And maybe it was that point that was bothering her the most. Did she belong?

  "We have a meeting with Director Asher tomorrow evening. He wants a full report. We need to be careful."

  "Careful?" Hunter said.

  "Yes," Fawn said. "I had to beg him to let you back. He could kick you off of this operation. He could have you arrested.”

  Hunter flashed a toothy smile at Fawn. It was a stern look. "Do you think that would stop me? I am going to make sure that those Mantis files are destroyed if it's the last thing I do.”

  Hank looked at both Hunter and Fawn and realized that there was a connection between the two of them. The two of them shared a long and painful past.

  "Should I, uh, carry the bags?" Hank asked.

  Hunter didn't respond.

  Neither did Fawn.

  The two CIA members just stared at each other.

  "Ah, screw this," Hank said. He pulled at his suitcase. "Did you park in the same spot you dropped us off in?"

  Twelve

  Hunter wasn't looking forward to the meeting with Director Asher. The director was more interested in dollars and cents than Hale ever had been. Asher was a corporatist and was concerned more with the bottom line and the accounting department than with the men and women on the field. Asher viewed intelligence as a business first, a national security concern second.

  Fawn dropped Hunter off at his apartment in downtown DC.

  Hunter made his way into the apartment he'd referred to as home since Fawn approached him in the motel in Nashville. It was small, but it had a nice view of the Potomac River, and it was quiet. The neighbors were all in their eighties and, most importantly, kept to themselves. The place was considered a retirement home, albeit unofficially. Hunter didn't mind that. He wanted the quiet. He wanted the peace. And it helped that the neighbors were friendly.

  But at the end of the day, all his apartment needed to be was a place where he could close his eyes and dream.

  He walked inside and felt a sense of relief. His place was mostly empty. He only kept the essentials: a couch, a television, a bed.

  The only personal possessions were some books from Ancient Greek philosophers, a record player, a small collection of records.

  Regarding the books he was reading before he left for Amsterdam, he had recently engulfed himself with the ancient stoic philosophers. He especially liked the works of Epictetus, Seneca, and the Roman Emperor, Marcus Aurelius. As far as he was concerned, stoic philosophy was the one thing keeping him alive. The belief that virtue was the only good and that all external things, whether they be health, wealth, or pleasure, were not good or bad but simply had no value. He was a man trying to tame his demons, and stoic philosophy seemed like a last, but worthwhile, resort.

  The more he read about the Stoic philosophers, the more he realized that his military training, in a way, had already made him a stoic, of sorts. The concept of emotions working against you—their destructive and unreliable nature leading to errors of judgment; the breathing exercises he'd been taught as a sniper, the emphasis on keeping your arm and muscles relaxed: all were principles of stoic philosophy. One had to be calm and still. There was no other way to live, to excel, other than to face the chaos of the moment with a kind of stillness that most would find suicidal.

  He pulled out a vial of G-12 and popped it. He'd grown so accustomed to the rush of sensation that the drug created in his body. Once the swell of feeling had passed over his him, he walked up to his couch and sat down.

  Hunter felt a sense of guilt, looking at the books on his coffee table. That last night in Amsterdam, he'd let his emotions get the better of him. He'd drank too much. He'd grown too close to that woman. He needed to be better.

  He turned on the news.

  A distraction would help.

  They were talking about the President's meeting with the Supreme Leader. Twelve heads, each in a small box, were debating the merits of the meeting, discussing whether it was right for the President to go against his advisors. The Vice President had publicly condemned the trip numerous times.

  President Raynor appeared on the screen.

  The President was walking out of Air Force One and waving to a horde of trained citizens, who were smiling and gawking at his every gesture like t
hey'd been ordered to.

  Hunter smirked.

  He stood up and walked to his fridge to grab a beer.

  Was he drifting back to the old habits?

  After cracking a cold one open, he sat back down on his couch and listened to a news report featuring Vice President Cosgrove.

  Hunter's eyes narrowed.

  He hated Washington.

  "The President is acting foolishly," Cosgrove said. "I know it is wrong as his Vice President to call him out, but he is putting himself in danger by agreeing to this peace treaty. Hell, he is putting the American people in danger with this peace treaty."

  Hunter smirked.

  The notion that a peace treaty was dangerous was amusing.

  He finished his beer and drifted off to sleep.

  Thirteen

  President Raynor tightened up his tie and looked at himself in his lavish hotel room mirror. He stiffened his neck and straightened his jacket.

  "You can do this," he said to himself. "Think about the coffins."

  He was referring to the transport aircraft he'd seen as a Navy SEAL in Iraq and Afghanistan, the ones that were full of the dead, full of men he'd fought alongside and trusted—his brothers, sisters.

  He left the hotel room.

  Jackson was waiting for him outside his door.

  "Mr. President," Jackson said.

  "Jackson," the President said, nodding at his head of security.

  The two men smiled at each other and made their way down the eerie but illustrious hall. They'd only been in the country for eighteen hours, but nothing felt right. Everything seemed a little off, a tad askew. The paintings and portraits that hung on the hotel walls depicted happy citizens, confident leaders, and expansive cities.

  "Cheryl will meet us in the limo," Jackson said.

  Cheryl was Raynor's press secretary.

  "Good," Raynor said. "I've made a few tweaks to the speech she sent me. I want her to know."

  "Is she going to be pissed?"

  "Of course."

  Jackson chuckled. He admired Raynor, and it wasn't just because he felt like an actual human around him—Raynor treated everyone with the same level of respect and attention—it was also because Raynor didn't mind bending the rules. Jackson worked as a secret service agent for years, under a variety of Presidents. One thing that stood out to him was that Jackson didn't kiss ass. He didn't bend the knee. He never once seemed bothered by pulling numbers or approval ratings. He just did what he felt he had to do.

  The two men walked to the limo.

  A brisk wind made Raynor's tie flap in all directions. He stepped into the limo, readjusted himself, and smiled at Cheryl. Jackson shut the door and made his way to the SUV parked behind the limo.

  The red-haired, bug-eyed woman smiled back at Raynor.

  "How are you, Mr. President?" Cheryl asked.

  "Please," Raynor said. "I told you to cut that shit out."

  "Right," she said. "I'm sorry. I take it you had a chance to go over the speech I sent."

  "Yes."

  "Perfect."

  "I've made some changes," Raynor said.

  He noticed Cheryl's vein on her neck pulsate, the way her eyes seemed to pop out of her head.

  "Mr. President…"

  "Cheryl…"

  "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "But your approval ratings are dipping. Our research tells us that the majority of Americans think this is an ill-advised trip. It would be best if you come across as strong but fair. The speech was a perfect balance."

  "I am here for peace," Raynor said. "I don't give a rat's ass about the approval numbers. You know that."

  "Yes, sir… but…"

  "There is no discussion," he said. "I'm going to make the changes I want to make. I came here to solve a problem. We need North Korea to disarm. This is called compromise."

  Cheryl acquiesced. "Fine."

  The two of them remained quiet for the rest of the car ride.

  For years, the media, the Washington insiders, had played the game wrong. They'd kept the ball in their own end of the court, hoping that eventually the Supreme Leader, the God-like man that dominated North Korea, would come to his senses—would give up. Raynor had been in enough battles to know that surrender was never the best way to settle a conflict. And with a country like North Korea, especially so. They were never going to surrender. They needed to come out of this arrangement looking good.

  Relations between the two countries had always been difficult. Since 1866, when Korea was one country, they closed their border to Western trade, and they attacked a US gunboat sent to negotiate a trade treaty. After they killed its crew, the US had no choice but to fire back.

  This resulted in the Shinmiyangyo incident. The US responded to the attack on its men by sending an expedition to the country. They sent 650 men: 500 sailors, 100 marines, alongside a healthy serving of five warships. They sent the Colorado, Alaska, Monocacy, and the Benicia. After making safe contact with the Koreans, who were all dressed in white, they continued to make their way up the Han River, which led to Hanyang's capital city, modern-day Seoul. But as they made their way through the Ganghwa Straits, they were attacked. While they did avoid debilitating damage, thanks to the fact that the Koreans had yet to master the art of the cannon, they quickly retreated and demanded an apology.

  The Koreans didn't apologize.

  So Admiral Rodgers took matters into his own hands.

  They attacked a Korean fort, killing more than 243 soldiers while only losing three American combatants. The fighting lasted only fifteen minutes. And despite the fact that they'd taken a Korean deputy as a hostage, the Americans could not establish a communication channel with the country. The Koreans were offended that they'd offer wounded soldiers back to them. They considered the American's weak and cowards for not killing the soldiers they'd captured.

  It wasn't until 1882, when the American government signed the Treater of Amity and Commerce, that any beachhead was made. The treaty finally established a mutual link between the United States and Korea. Of course, that only lasted until 1910, as Japan invaded Korea and annexed the country. They ruled the territory until 1945, or until after two nuclear bombs exploded in the sky over Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and Japan surrendered—effectively ending World War II.

  After the Japanese left, Korea was divided into two territories by the United Nations. They divided the country at the 38th parallel. The division was meant to be temporary. The USSR took over the North, and the US took over the South. When tensions between the USSR and the US became hostile, the reunification of the country became impossible.

  North Korea submitted itself to Soviet pressures—partly because the US was occupying Korea's mortal enemy at the time: Japan. During this time, North Korean's began to look at the US with a negative view.

  This Cold War escalated tensions in a very unhealthy way. By 1950, the tension between the North and South of Korea had become so strong that war was inevitable. Famed World War II general, Douglas MacArthur, established a beach head ,of sorts, in North Korea and planned on taking North Korean generals as hostages, especially then, North Korean defacto leader, Kim Il-Sung. MacArthur wanted to try them all as war criminals.

  Thus began the Korean War.

  But one year into the operation, public support in the US plummeted. President Truman had no choice but to pull out. The Korean War ended as a dud. Nothing was resolved. Russian influence reigned over the Asian territory. In many ways, the Korean war was a precursor to the Vietnam war twelve years later.

  For the next forty years, North Korea remained under Soviet influence. Various incidents of conflict occurred during that time. In 1968, a US spy ship was captured. They called it the Pueblo incident. In 1969, an EC-121 reconnaissance aircraft was shot down over the Sea of Japan, killing thirty-one American servicemen. In 1976, during a routine tree-clearing exercise in the demilitarized zone, Captain Arthur Bonifas and Lieutenant Mark Barrett were killed by the North Korean Army with axes at Pa
nmunjom. The North Korean government called it an example of American aggression. The Ford administration showed some force, and the North Koreans allowed the tree-cutting to continue and later issued an apology.

  It wasn't until the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 that things really took a turn for the worse. That was during a period when Kim Jong-il tried to establish a nuclear bomb program in the country. President Bill Clinton later said of the rising tensions between the two countries that he was "determined to prevent North Korea from developing a nuclear arsenal, even at the risk of war."

  Declassified documents later revealed that the US was ready for war in 1994 in case of a nuclear crisis. Thanks to accounts from former Pentagon officials, it is now known that the US was prepared to strike the North Korean nuclear reactor at Yongbyon.

  After the incident with the helicopter during the training exercise during the same period, things cooled down. It wasn't until 2002, under George W. Bush, that things escalated once again. Incidents involving scud missiles and counterfeit money helped the two countries grow in angst.

  Since then, tensions between the two countries have only worsened. North Korea has detained US citizens, set fire to nuclear bombs, and threatened UN members with nuclear strikes.

  The Doomsday Clock, which was founded in 1945 by the University of Chicago scientists who had helped develop the first nuclear bomb during the Manhattan Project, used the imagery of apocalypse (midnight) and the contemporary idiom of a nuclear explosion (countdown to zero) to convey the threats to human civilization and the planet in the means of a clock. The minute hand of the Doomsday Clock is made every year at the Bulletin's Science and Security Board in consultation with its Board of Sponsors.

  The Doomsday clock has become recognized as the indicator of the world's vulnerability to catastrophe from nuclear bombs, climate change, and other disruptive technologies.

  Raynor was going to give the world precious time.

  As the limousine came to a stop outside the stadium where he was to meet the Supreme Leader and make the speech, he took a deep breath and got ready.