by Rawlin Cash
“Can they get to him?” Hunter asked.
“They want us to send in an operative.”
“Okay,” Hunter said. “Then why don’t you send in an MI6 operative…”
“I figured that an American would be better,” Margot said. “I reached out to my connections in the CIA and got in contact with Deputy Director Aspen. I asked for you.”
Fawn turned to Hunter. “We just got word that the North Korean’s are planning to execute the President in four days. If that happens, then the Vice President takes over. And, by all accounts, he’ll let China own the region. The entire balance of power in China will shift, all because the Vice President wants to make a few dollars on the stock market.”
Hunter growled.
Hank was looking at the schematics on the table and the map. "Is this a submersible?" he said, interrupting everyone.
Margot laughed. "Yes, it is." She turned to the group of three people in lab coats behind her. "These are tactical equipment engineers from MIT. They're MI6 agents.”
Margot flipped around the schematic Hank was looking at so that it was in front of Hunter.
"When the President was kidnapped last night, I recalled a special vehicle that I'd seen in one of our labs years ago. It's like a torpedo, but it's designed to transport someone underwater, securely and quickly. If North Korea suspects that a foreign agent is making their way toward the President, I fear that they will expedite the execution. We need you to get in there covertly. We need to make sure that you don’t attract any attention. We need to give you time to rescue the President. This vehicle will take you from a submarine in the Sea of Japan to the North Korean shore. A contact from the Liberators will meet you there. He’ll take you to the President.”
Fawn turned to Hunter. "We're calling it operation Hollow Point. I named it that because of the shape of the vehicle you'll be riding in. It looks like a hollow point shell.”
"That's all great and all," Hunter said, "But I'm in Langley. How the hell are going to get me to a submarine in the Sea of Japan?”
"A British Navy submarine, S-91, Triumph, is currently stationed in Pearl Harbor,” Margot said. “We have the transport vehicle you'll be riding there. Our team at MI6 was running experiments in the Pacific Ocean, testing it, making sure it was safe. This is brand-new tech."
Hunter rolled his eyes. "You're firing me out of a submarine torpedo launcher?"
"Yes," Margot said.
Hunter wanted to say no. He looked at Fawn. "This is the best option?" he asked her.
"It's the only option. You know Asher wouldn't have brought us here if he didn't have another one."
"Fuck," Hunter grunted.
"Wait a minute?" Hank said. “Why the hell am I here?”
"Good question," Margot said. “Jack told me you were good with computers. I figured we could use you to monitor the chatter of the Vice President and the joint-chiefs. We need to do whatever we can to buy Hunter time and make sure that no one knows he’s in North Korea.”
“You want me to spy on the Vice President?”
“Yes,” Margot said.
Twenty-One
Hunter spent the rest of the day going over Operation Hollow Point with Margot, Hank, and Fawn. They were all in a dark briefing room in the main CIA building. A bright white light shone from an old projector. A white screen had been pulled down from the ceiling, a map of North Korea was displayed.
Margot stood in front of the screen. “I want to make sure you’re fully briefed,” she said. “You need to know the players involved. You need to know what’s at stake.”
Hank was sat next to Hunter and whispered into his ear. "I won't lie, I'm jealous."
"Jealous about what?"
"I got the hots for teacher," Hank said while giggling.
Hunter rolled his eyes.
"Are we ready to begin?" Margot said, knowing that Hank and Hunter were talking about her.
"Yes, ma'am,” Hank said.
"General Woo is responsible for the attack on the President. He’s the one holding the President hostage. He’s a bit of a mysterious figure to the West," Margot said. She snapped a clicker in her hand. The slide on the projector changed. There was a picture of a man with a scar on his face. He was dressed in formal military attire. "This is the only photograph we have of the general. From our estimates, he's about fifty years old. It's unclear when he got his start in the KPA, but it is clear that he holds an enormous amount of influence over the army. That is probably how he convinced his men to kill the Supreme Leader and take control.”
She pressed her clicker, and the slide changed. This time a picture of the Supreme Leader came up. She continued, "As I am sure you know, Kim Jong-Lee was assassinated during the signing of the peace treaty yesterday. He was the thirty-six-year-old ruler of the country. Historically, the Supreme Leader of North Korea is revered almost as if he were a god. There's a certain cult of personality that has surrounded the Jong-Lee family for years. There are stiff penalties for those who criticize or do not show 'proper' respect for the regime. After Jong-Lee's father's death, Kim Sun, the Korean Central News Agency said that 'layers of ice ruptured with a thunderous roar that could be heard around the world.' The country mourned for more than one hundred days. The people worship their family."
Hank raised his hand like he was a student. "Excuse me, miss, but if Jong-Lee and his family were so revered and loved, how the hell did General Woo convince his soldiers to assassinate him?"
"Well, that's the million-dollar question," Margot said. "We don't know. I imagine it has something to do with the fact that things in North Korea are quite dire. The living conditions of the poor have only worsened since the young ruler took control. And it hasn't helped matters much that he's invited several high-profile American celebrities to visit his country. I imagine that there is an undercurrent of resentment. Perhaps, asking for peace from one of their most hated enemies was the straw that broke the camels back."
"So, what am I to do when I get to North Korea? You said that there is a group called the Liberators?" Hunter asked. “They’re going to meet me on the shore from the stealth torpedo you’re launching me from.”
"Yes," Margot said. "Our contact is a young man named Kim Seung-Ji. He's a KPA officer and moonlights as a rebel."
"And the Liberator's know where the President is?"
"Yes," Margot said. "But they won't tell us anything until you get there.”
"Why?"
"They want passports, and they want this." Margot pulled out a small electronic device. "It's a satellite transponder. This kind of tech is impossible to come by in their country. With it, they can communicate with their allies in the South and Japan. They can organize a real coup. They’ll even be able to hack into the KPA network.”
Hunter groaned. He didn't like it. There was one step too many. He just wanted to get to the President and kill General Woo.
"And after they tell me where the President is, they're going to help me get him out. They're going to help kill Woo."
"That's what they've agreed to do," Margot said. “They feel just as dire about this situation as we do. They know your Vice President is ceding power to China. As bad as the Supreme Leader has been, China would be worse.”
Twenty-Two
Hunter left Langley and made his way to his apartment.
Margot was meticulous with her breakdown of Operation Hollow Point. She went over everything. Twice. Hunter’s head hurt.
However, Hunter knew that once he got to North Korea, he'd have to throw ninety-percent of what she said out the window. He'd have to rely on his training and his instinct.
The geopolitical intricacies of the conflict or region didn't matter. Hunter knew to expect the worst. When it came down to it, it was about power and control. Those who had it wanted to keep it. Those who didn't have it, wanted it.
He walked into his apartment and locked the door. He looked around the place he'd called home. He wondered if it would be the last time
he'd see it.
It didn't matter, though. Why would it? He was a man with no past and no future. He was broken, inside and out. His apartment was as empty as his soul.
But, in a way, the idea of leaving nothing seemed to disappoint him.
He shook his head and walked to his kitchen.
He made himself a coffee; he thought about his past. All his loved ones had been cut from his life. He'd come to terms with his curse. He was meant to be alone. He was meant to stalk the woods of the world, inhabit the dark crevices, he was meant to sniff out the blood of the perpetrators—the bad actors—the evil.
He was a weapon.
Nothing more.
As the coffee began to percolate, he walked to his living room, sat down, and flipped on the news.
"The Vice President met with the joint-chiefs today," an attractive blonde newswoman said. "In a shocking turn of events, the Vice President has said that the White House is working with Chinese President Zhu Zedong to resolve the conflict. They believed that with negotiation they can free President Raynor.”
Hunter smirked.
He had to hand it to Cosgrove. The son-of-a-bitch knew how to play the game. He'd condemned Raynor's attempts to make peace in the region for months, but now that Raynor was effectively out of the picture, he was seizing advantage. And, of course, the corporate-backed media ate it up like it was chocolate cake. They devoured every word from Cosgrove and recycled it on the twenty-four news cycle in a way that made it seem like Cosgrove was the only one talking. Raynor's act of seeking peace with an enemy, his notion to look to the future of international relations, his want for an end of old twenty-first-century conflicts, well, all that was an act of war. And for Raynor, he wasn't adept at that kind of battle. But Cosgrove was. Cosgrove knew how to play the game of spin.
And he was about to justify leaving the President to die in a North Korean cell, all in the name of "peace."
Hunter turned off the television. He didn't need to hear it.
He walked to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. As he took the first sip, he heard a banging at his door.
"What is it now?" he muttered to himself.
He walked to the door.
It was her again.
Margot Fox.
The woman who wouldn't go away, who wouldn't leave him alone.
He opened the door but didn't invite her in. He held his coffee in his hand, took a slow sip, and then asked, "How'd you find out where I lived?"
"Your friend," Margot said.
Fucking Hank, Hunter thought to himself. That asshole couldn't keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it.
"What do you want?" Hunter asked. "If it's about Operation Hollow Point, we have time tomorrow."
"I want to talk. I owe you an apology."
"Apology?"
“If I hadn’t slow you down in Amsterdam, perhaps you would have got to Doctor Lin before the device killed him.”
Hunter shrugged. "We all make mistakes. Goodbye."
He went to shut the door, but she stopped him.
"Mind if I come in?" she asked.
Hunter looked her in the eyes. There was something about her. Something he couldn't quite place. It terrified him and attracted him all at the same time. He wanted to grab her, kiss her, and not let her go. At the same time, he wanted to pull out his sidearm from his back pocket, aim at her, and tell her to 'fuck off.'
He gritted his teeth and considered his options.
He stepped back and let her walk inside.
"Are you getting ready for tomorrow?" she asked as if she hadn't noticed the pain in his eyes.
"I'm ready."
She looked around his apartment.
"You have a nice view of the city," she said. "This place is as cold as you, though. Where's the personality? Where's the character?"
"The agency set me up here. It's a place for me to sleep."
"And you have no personal possessions, aside from that record player over there?" she gestured to the record player beside the door to the balcony."And what does Jack Hunter like to listen to?"
"See for yourself. You want a coffee?"
"Sure."
She walked to the record player and inspected it. "Who's Sturgill Simpson?"
"Someone real."
She put the record she was holding down and scanned the apartment with her eyes. He was blank. He was trained to be that way, of course, like she was trained to look for detail.
She sighed.
He noticed.
"You're disappointed?"
She walked up to Hunter and stared into his eyes. "I knew you were a spook, but I don't think I've ever met one as ghost-like as you."
"That's because I'm not really alive," Hunter said, his eyes staring at her, but past her—he was looking into the world he'd left behind.
Hunter turned away from her and finished his coffee.
She sat down.
"I don't want to talk about the operation," she yelled to him.
Hunter opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. He cracked it open and walked back to the living room. "Good," he said. "Neither do I."
"Then what do you want to talk about?"
"I don't want to talk."
She put her coffee down on a small table by the window. She began to undo her blouse.
Hunter smiled.
"You left me alone," she said. "You walked off on me. You didn't have the guts to say goodbye."
"But you found me."
She laughed, pulled her dress down, and revealed her naked body.
Hunter took a swig of beer, placed the half-finished bottle on his dining room table, and then walked up to her. He wrapped his arms around her.
She closed her eyes and moaned as he pulled her in close.
"What are you afraid of?" she asked.
Hunter didn't answer. He couldn't tell her the truth.
There was only one person on the Earth he was afraid of, and that was himself.
The two of them made their way to Hunter's bedroom.
He was glad he was sober this time around.
He enjoyed it a lot more.
Twenty-Three
President Raynor didn't know where he was. It was cold and damp. His head ached, his clothes felt stiff from dried blood, and his wrists were shackled behind his back.
He was on his ass in the corner of some cell. The floor was concrete, and the walls were steel. He knew he wasn't in Pyongyang because he couldn't hear any traffic.
It'd been twenty-four hours since the attack.
He'd been unconscious for most of that time.
He'd woke up in the back of a military transport truck. General Woo was wise to move him out of the capital quickly, Raynor thought.
He sighed.
He wondered if anyone would come looking for him.
He already knew what they'd be saying in the papers. They'd be saying that the Vice President's worries had been vindicated. They'd be saying that Raynor was a fool for going through with the peace treaty.
The last bit of sunlight he saw was when the KPA soldiers dragged him out of the truck and brought him into the building.
Where ever he was, it was cold.
To keep his mind busy, he fumbled with the wedding ring in his pocket. It gave him solace, but it was also a reminder. He'd been stupid so many times in his life, and each time it felt like it was because he was trying to do the right thing.
"What do you mean?" his wife, Veronica, said to him before he agreed to run for the Presidency. She was pregnant at the time and had that beautiful glow that all pregnant women have.
Raynor embraced her. They were in their house in Texas. It was a humble place, especially for an up and coming senator—with a real shot at the Presidency. The sun was setting that day, and its orange glow made the whole world feel warm and welcoming.
"I mean that I have to put my name in the race," he said. "There's so much damn corruption in the world, so much wrong. And half of it is becaus
e the folks in Washington aren't willing to do real work. They're not willing to do what's required. Our nation has lost its sense of self. I feel I can help."
"And you think that you can help it recover that lost sense of self? What about me? What about our child? We will lose you if you become President."
"This is a sacrifice, I know."
He smirked as he thought about that day. He thought his clean conscience would protect him from the feelings of loss. Now, upon reflection, he'd realized that it'd just been a lie he was telling himself. He was ignorant.
He should have listened to his wife. He should have told his advisors to screw themselves.
His campaign managers, the party leaders, the sycophants, and journalists who all stuck to him like leeches in a pond—they all should have been warning signs. He was in over his head.
They played him.
The day he took office, he could feel the eyes of the Washington elite watch him with a certain kind of scorn and hate. He could feel their expressions, could sense their repulsion. He wasn't just an outsider. He was something far worse.
He was a problem that they were going to deal with in time.
Before taking office, he finalized the divorce with his wife. He kissed his newborn child on the head, her name was Maya, and then he took off his wedding ring and put it in his pocket.
Looking around his cell, Raynor knew he'd been a fool.
He'd relied too much on his sense of duty. He should have been selfish. He should have stayed with his wife.
The world that he knew was over.
If he got out of this alive, he'd be a different man.
The only problem, he doubted he would get out of it alive.
He closed his eyes and waited.