“Let’s go,” Han-Jae ordered.
The man at the door joined the rest of them as they rushed down the hallway, bypassing an antique-looking elevator. They pushed through a door on the left with a stairway sign on the wall and ran two steps at a time up the stairwell.
When they reached the third floor, their pace had slowed considerably. The four men panted for air but pressed on. Each was in peak physical condition, having gone through an extraordinarily intense training prior to working for the general.
The guy with the shaved head opened the door leading into the third-floor hallway and poked his head out. He checked both directions. “All clear,” he said and motioned for the others to go ahead.
The other three moved one at a time into the corridor. One took a position on his knees across the hall. The other two spread out, moving several feet down in either direction. The fourth took one last look down the stairwell and then tiptoed into the hallway, easing the door shut quietly.
Han-Jae inspected the signs next to the hotel room doors. Noting the numbers were moving in ascending order to the left, he pointed for the others to move that way. They obeyed immediately and hurried down the hall, moving as silently as possible. The only noise they made was the occasional swishing of their pant legs, a sound that would be nearly impossible to hear through a wall.
The four men reached room 311 and stopped, crouching around it. Han-Jae took the key from Buzz-Cut and carefully slid it into the slot. He pulled it out and waited. Nothing happened.
He pressed down on the latch, but the door was still locked.
Han-Jae frowned and tried the card again. This time he left it in a second longer than before. When he pulled it out, still nothing happened. He looked back at Buzz-Cut, wondering if his assistant had made a mistake.
The guy shrugged and displayed his best Don’t look at me face.
Buzz-Cut pointed at the card and made a motion that Han-Jae needed to turn it around, suggesting he was doing it backward.
Han-Jae nodded and twisted the card the other way. Sure enough, now he could see little arrows printed on the plastic pointing the direction in which the card should be inserted.
He slipped the card back into the reader, and instantly the green light on the side blinked. They heard the door lock click. Han-Jae didn’t wait for it to relock. He grabbed the latch and pulled down gently, careful to make sure he didn’t make any sudden noises that would wake the people inside.
When the latch would move no farther, he pushed the door softly and eased his way through the narrow opening—stopping only to make sure the door chain wasn’t engaged. He was glad to see it wasn’t, even though he knew how to foil that primitive security.
The lights in the hallway would wake any light sleepers in the room, so they’d need to work fast. He drew his pistol and continued through the doorway into the darkened hotel room.
The air conditioning unit on the wall was blowing loudly, flooding the room with icy cool air. Whoever these people were, they liked their temperatures chilly while sleeping. In a minute, their bodies would start to cool permanently.
Han-Jae gave one more twist of his sound suppressor as he stepped around the bathroom corner and into the main sleeping area. The room was faintly lit by a crack in the curtains, which let in a narrow stream of moonlight: a pale line ran across the sheets and comforter on the queen-size bed.
Two of the others followed Han-Jae into the room, stopping a few inches behind him.
The plan was to wake the two Americans and then search the room for whatever they’d found at the dig site. They’d considered executing the archaeologists, but then getting answers might be difficult to come by.
Han-Jae tapped Buzz-Cut on the shoulder, his cue to turn on the lights. The man obeyed, moving back toward the door and feeling his way along the wall until he found the light switch. When he did, he flicked it up.
A single light in the foyer came on overhead, brightening the room but leaving shadows in the far corners. Still, it was enough light for them to see the bed and its occupants.
Han-Jae’s head twisted slightly as he gazed upon the sheets and comforter. It was made to look like two people were sleeping under the covers. In reality, it was just pillows stuffed underneath the blankets.
Fury boiled up in Han-Jae’s mind. He stepped over to the bed and jerked the covers back. Sure enough, nothing but pillows. His nostrils flared as he spun around in a circle, looking all over the room.
“Where are they?” he snarled. “They are supposed to be here.”
Tires screeched in the parking lot below. Han-Jae rushed to the window and shoved the curtains aside. A four-door hatchback whipped out onto the road and sped away heading east.
In a rage, Han-Jae yanked the curtains down. Two of his men joined him at the window in time to see the car disappear around the next corner.
“Someone told them we were coming,” he said. “Someone warned them.”
“Who?” Buzz-Cut asked.
“No time to think about that. We have to follow them. Go. Now!”
The other three ran back into the hallway and turned right.
They didn’t expect to find eight men waiting in the corridor—all wearing the same black outfits, all holding weapons. Four were to the right and four to the left.
Han-Jae and his men were surrounded and outnumbered. He recognized the blond man to the right. He was the one with the Americans in Cologne.
“Put down your weapons, and we will let you live,” the blond said.
Han-Jae couldn’t place his accent. It sounded English, but not quite so refined.
The leader of the North Korean group had no intention of putting his gun down or leaving peaceably.
His hand shot up in a flash, and he fired. The round sailed by the blond guy and struck one of his compatriots in the shoulder, dropping him to the ground.
The second Han-Jae pulled the trigger, the other seven men in the hall dove for cover. There weren’t many places to hide from bullets, so they had to make do with shallow recesses next to door frames. Two of his men retreated down the other side of the hall, finding protection behind pillars built into the walls. The blond motioned to the two remaining guys on his side to do the same.
Han-Jae and his four men ducked back inside the hotel room. While they had no immediate way to escape, at least they were protected…for the moment. That wouldn’t last, though, and Han-Jae knew it. Sooner or later the authorities would arrive, and there would be no getting out.
He peeked around the corner of the door and fired another shot to the left. The round sank harmlessly into the wall but caused the four men on that side to stay pinned back.
An older man, probably in his late seventies, poked his head out of a door close to the blond guy. The second he saw the bleeding man writhing on the ground and the other men with guns, his eyes opened wide and he scurried back into his room. The sound of a chain sliding in its receiver sounded faintly in the immediate area.
Han-Jae stuck the long barrel of his weapon around the edge of the door again, but this time it was greeted by a series of muffled pops from both directions. He dove back inside, narrowly dodging a barrage of hot metal from the men outside.
The one with the shaved head looked into his eyes. “There’s only one way out, sir.”
Han-Jae misread the intent in the man’s eyes. “If we have to go, we go out shooting.”
The henchman shook his head. “No, sir. I mean out the window.”
“It’s too far down. We’ll break our legs, or worse.”
“It’s only three stories. We can use the blankets and sheets to lower ourselves down to a safe drop. Only problem is getting out the window.”
Han-Jae stared at the wide piece of glass. Outside, the dark outline of jagged mountains stood against the sparkling sky. “Give me some cover fire,” he said. “Conserve your ammo. Just shoot enough to keep them back.”
The man nodded and scooted over to the door. Buzz-Cut joined
him on the other side to provide crossfire.
Han-Jae rushed to the window and tapped it with the suppressor. “Perfect.” He took a step back, looked over his shoulder, and nodded at the two by the door. “Cover fire.”
The two men poked their weapons through the opening and squeezed off three shots each. Simultaneously, Han-Jae and Shaved Head pointed their guns at the window and unleashed half the contents of their magazines, making a huge square of holes in the glass. Spiderweb cracks slivered the window in all directions.
Han-Jae motioned to a club chair next to the bed. He and Shaved Head moved fast, picked up the chair, and stepped close to the window. They swung it back and forth until their momentum was what they believed was strong enough to break through.
“Fire again,” Han-Jae told the other two.
They did as told, taking three more shots apiece at the attackers in the corridor. This time, the other men returned fire, sending Han-Jae’s men retreating farther into the room as drywall, wood, and wallpaper exploded all around them from the onslaught of bullets.
“Now!” Han-Jae said to his partner holding the leather chair.
Both men released the chair at once. It seemed to float for a second in the air until the side struck the weakened glass, bursting through it easily and shattering the window into millions of pieces.
They didn’t watch the chair fall. They had to move quickly if they wanted to get out alive. Han-Jae grabbed the comforter first and wound it into a kind of rope. Then he took the top sheet and tied off the strongest knot he could muster. Shaved Head worked on the other end, using the main bed sheet and the extra blanket that hotels always seemed to provide.
Once their makeshift rope was done, Han-Jae motioned to one of the men at the door to help them. “Fire again,” he said to the last guy.
With a nod, the remaining man shot two more rounds into the hall in both directions before ducking for cover again.
The other three positioned themselves on separate corners of the bed, and when Han-Jae gave the signal, they all heaved, shoving the bed across the floor to the shattered window. The men grunted as the bed slid reluctantly. When the foot butted against the wall beneath the window, Han-Jae hurriedly tied off one end of the blankets to one of the bed’s legs. He gave it a tug and—satisfied it was secure—tossed the bulk of the sheets and blanket rope out the window.
“Go,” he said to Shaved Head first.
The man didn’t hesitate. He grabbed onto the rope, climbed out the window, and started lowering himself down.
“You’re next,” Han-Jae said to Buzz-Cut.
“You’re our leader,” the man said. “You should go. I’ll stay here and cover.”
Han-Jae shook his head. “That’s an order.”
Buzz-Cut didn’t argue further. He watched as the first guy reached the end of their rope and dropped the remaining eight feet to the ground. The landing wasn’t pretty, but he rolled out of the way and stood back on his feet.
As soon as Buzz-Cut disappeared out the window, Han-Jae stalked over to the doorway and tapped his guard on the shoulder. The guy looked up at him.
Han-Jae jerked his thumb at the window. “When he’s down, you go.”
“But—” the guy started to give the same protest. He was the youngest of the group. His hair was cropped to the side as was popular in the 1950s.
“Go,” Han-Jae said again.
The young man didn’t need to be told a third time. He got up off the ground and ran over to the window in time to see Buzz-Cut drop clumsily to the sidewalk. Sirens echoed through the city, and the sound filtered into the hotel room.
Han-Jae heard the noise as he saw the third man go out the window and over the edge. Han-Jae gave the guy a few seconds for a head start and then stuck his gun out the door. He fired several shots to the right and then emptied the magazine’s contents to the left. A quick press of the button released the magazine. He caught it, shoved it into a cargo pocket, and pulled a full one out of his belt. It took less than four seconds for him to reload the weapon and pull the slide to chamber a new round.
More shots came from the silenced weapons in the hall. The doorframe and surrounding walls were destroyed. The hallway light streaked through multiple holes in the wall.
Han-Jae darted back to the window and looked out. All three men were safely on the ground. Two of them were keeping watch. The third was looking up, an anxious expression on his face.
With no time to waste, Han-Jae shoved the weapon into his belt and grabbed the rope. He climbed over the ledge and pressed his feet against the outside wall, then hand over hand began repelling down the side. He reached the top of the second floor, and suddenly his right foot slipped from its hold. Han-Jae’s other foot slipped, too, and he swung out away from the wall. He looked up to the window and saw more lights flicker on.
The attackers were entering the room. He didn’t have time to do a controlled drop. His fingers ached from holding onto the sheets. Rapidly, he put one hand below the other until he reached the bottom of the second floor. There was still rope to use, but he had to hurry. Any second, the men above would be at the window with easy targets below.
Han-Jae let go of the sheets and fell the last ten feet. He struck the ground with a heavy thud and did his best to absorb the drop by rolling to the side.
The impact sent a sudden pain through his right foot, but he pushed himself off the ground and took off down the sidewalk. His three men followed, disappearing into the shadows around the corner just as one of the men in the room arrived at the window. He had a flashlight attached to his weapon and flashed it around on the ground, looking for the escapees.
They’d vanished.
20
Thonon-les-Bains, France
Joe McElroy—affectionately known as Mac to his friends—waited nervously next to the water’s edge of Lac Léman. In the day, the crystal-clear water allowed an observer to see several feet down. It was one of the few places on Earth where pollution—it seemed—hadn’t penetrated.
A chilly breeze rolled in across the water, sending rippling waves crashing against the rocks at Mac’s feet. The cool air brushed through his thick brown-and-gray beard. He ran a hand through his matching hair and felt a tingle shoot through his spine from the sudden burst of wind. He pulled his jacket zipper up a couple of inches to keep warm.
“Do you usually walk alone by the lake at midnight?” a familiar voice asked from a cluster of trees fifteen yards away.
Startled, Mac spun around in the direction he’d heard the voice. A pistol in his right hand stayed by his hip. He didn’t need to raise it. No threat came with the sound of that voice.
“Not a good idea to scare a man with a gun in his hand, Sean,” Mac said, narrowing his beady eyes.
Sean stepped out of the shadows and had a quick look around. “I thought it might be better to get your attention while I had some cover, you know, in case your trigger finger was a little itchy.”
Mac stuffed the weapon into his belt and tugged the jacket over to conceal it. He shook his head dramatically as Sean approached. He put his arms out wide and enveloped his friend with a big hug. After slapping him on the back twice, Mac let go and shook Sean by the shoulder.
“I gotta say, Sean, you sure are a sight for sore eyes.”
“You, too, Mac. It’s good to see you. Although I’m sorry for the trouble.”
“Pfft. Trouble?” Mac blew it off. “I appreciate the warning, but it’s probably best those guys who came after us didn’t come toe to toe with the missus. She’s got a mean streak in her, and that government training of hers makes her a killer.”
“I know a thing or two about that,” Sean said.
“The training or her mean streak?”
Sean chuckled. “Both.” He looked around, still uneasy about the setting.
“Relax,” Mac said. “Helen and I already scoped it out. Plus, she’s on a rooftop somewhere watching us. She’ll keep an eye on things.”
“That m
akes me feel a little better. You’re sure you weren’t followed?”
“Pretty sure. One of the nice things about that hotel in Bellevaux was there was only one parking lot and one way in at night. We watched them approach from a second-floor room we rented under a fake name, thinking they would look us up in the registry. Once they were in the building, we waited by the stairwell and listened for them to pass, figuring they’d take the stairs as opposed to the elevators.
“Sure enough, they ran by in a hurry and once we heard the door above close, we snuck out down the stairs, made it to our car, and got the heck out of there.”
“Impressive,” Sean said. “I was worried you might not get the message. Still, cutting it a little close, weren’t you?”
“We didn’t have cell service out there at the dig site. When we got back from the day’s activities, the first thing we did was take a shower and get into some clean clothes. Didn’t check our messages until after.”
“Lucky you did.”
Mac snorted. “You got that right. And lucky you warned us. You saved our skin, Sean. Thanks.”
Sean rolled his shoulders. “Don’t mention it. So tell me more about this thing you found at the dig site.”
“In good time, my friend. Where’s your crew?”
Sean’s lips creased on one corner. “Not far. They’re waiting in the car about a block from here.”
“Perfect. Come back to our place and we’ll show you what we’ve got.”
Sean led the way back to the car where Tommy and the other two were anxiously waiting. When Tommy saw Sean and Mac approaching, he got out and greeted his bearded friend with a big hug.
Adriana walked around the front of the car and stood next to Sean while June took a position next to Tommy.
“Adriana Villa,” Mac said with a broad smile. “It sure is nice to see you again.” He stepped over and gave her a hug, then a kiss on both cheeks as was customary in some Spanish cultures.
The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4 Page 41
