CHAPTER 8
Now that Dr. Tong had departed, the Warren—the camouflaged warehouse used as a staging area—had fallen back into near silence. Commander Yun strolled along the row of motorcycles, eyeballing fasteners and mufflers, cargo nets and holstered rifles. All was ready. Nothing to do but wait.
Yun nodded. This could be the crowning moment of his career. No, he didn’t possess all the expertise to exploit the South Korean materials once acquired, but his had been the brainstorm to pull his country’s strategic alliances and expertise in disparate technologies into one audacious plan.
That plan had kicked off with the shipment from China. Not wanting to start the next world war, the Chinese government had been careful to eliminate any evidence of the shipment’s origin. But it mattered little. Once the product had been obtained and distributed in the South, nothing further had needed to be done. The seeds of their enemy’s destruction had already been sown.
Even now, the Chinese equipment was hard at work in the South, paving the way for the success of the lightning-strike mission that lacked only a few days to implementation. Twenty-four hours after that first strike, the next phase—the critical one—would begin.
CHAPTER 9
Alton and the rest of the joint team hunkered down in a room packed with servers, routers, and other high-tech gear. After a quick lunch, Nang had led them to this command center, the hub of South Korea’s electronic counterintelligence. The steady hum of cooling fans provided a gentle soundtrack to their conversation.
“As you suggested, Mr. Blackwell, my analysts have been combing through the intercepted messages, looking for a spike in references to non-Olympic locations,” said Nang, “but they haven’t ID’d anything—at least not yet.”
“Are they searching manually or using a program?” asked Alton.
“They’re using a metadata program, but it’s a bit rudimentary. We mostly rely on the analysts to spot patterns.”
Alton booted up his laptop. “Send me the files. I can run them through a state-of-the-art analysis program on a Kruptos server.”
“Kruptos?”
“Sorry,” said Alton. “That’s my civilian employer. What I do when I’m not doing…this.”
“Analysis program, huh? Impressive,” said Nang with a nod. “If you can give me the instructions, I’ll have my team route their files there.”
“Sending them now,” Alton replied as his hands flew over the keyboard.
Thirty minutes later, Alton sat back in his chair. “I’ve sent all the files to Kruptos for analysis. Now we wait.”
“In the meantime,” said Mallory, “we should turn our attention to the Olympics. We all agree they’d make a tempting target.” She thought for a moment. “Agent Nang, should any extra security measures be taken at the Olympic venues?”
“I already asked that same question of our internal security forces,” he replied. “Olympic security has been designed from the beginning to be top-of-the-line. Of course, those were general measures, not associated with any particular threat. We’ve notified the senior Olympic officials about this specific one.”
“Good idea,” said David. “That should keep them on their toes. But I’d like to see what they have in place.”
Nang bristled. “You think we can’t get the job done ourselves?”
“I think my Military Intelligence experience in Afghanistan—where I had to intercept people trying to kill us every week—and my little stint in the Secret Service give me experience you should use. Otherwise, why are we here?”
Nang sighed. “You’re right. Our enemy has the advantage of surprise. Our advantage must be our shared intellect.”
“So we’ll head to the Games?”
“Yes.”
Alton sat in the passenger seat of Nang’s white government Santa Fe, now streaked brown with snowy slush. The rest of the NSA filled the back seats. The vehicle, as well as another driven by Sergeant Chegal, glided east down a corridor of asphalt. An army of snow plows worked to keep the highway cleared of gently falling snow.
Silva piped up from the back row. “Agent Nang, one thing I don’t understand…I get that the North Koreans may have some kind of attack planned, but how would they get down here? I thought the border security was pretty tight.”
“Pretty tight is an understatement,” replied Nang. “It’s the most heavily armed border in the world. Each country, North and South, has created a security net on either side of the DMZ, the Korean Demilitarized Zone. This zone runs the entire two hundred and fifty kilometers of the border and averages about four kilometers in width. It contains landmines, razor wire, and military posts on both sides. Off the record, we also have a wall on our side, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
“If the security is so good,” said Silva, “how would they get over here to carry out any operation, Olympic or otherwise?”
“That’s part of what we must discover,” said Nang. “The ocean is monitored by satellite, so entering South Korea by sea is even more unlikely than a DMZ incursion.”
“We have to assume they’ve figured out a way,” said Alton. “Better that than get caught with our pants down.”
Nang drove the team along a serpentine road winding through rising elevations. After cresting a last rise, he pulled his SUV into an enormous parking deck constructed of spotless concrete, gleaming steel, and tinted stairwell windows.
“Built for the Olympics,” he said.
The team exited their vehicles and scanned the area. Apparently, much more than a parking deck had been built for the Games. Adjacent to the sprawling city of PyeongChang, a newly constructed Olympic village sporting an alpine motif sat nestled between nearby mountains, themselves covered with venues for skiing, bobsled, and luge. In the distance, a massive stadium, the “Ice Palace,” towered over the landscape. A variety of shops, restaurants, and hotels stretched as far as the eye could see.
The most amazing sight, though, was the tourists. A flood of humanity, a veritable sea of bodies, coursed through it all. A buzz of conversation rose from the throng.
Alton surveyed the surge of spectators. For a minute, the idea of identifying—much less intercepting—an enemy agent or two among these teeming masses seemed ludicrous. No amount of security measures could monitor the human tide that streamed down every street and alley.
Alton shook his head. He couldn’t afford these kinds of thoughts, not if he was going to prevent a disaster. Plus, it wasn’t like the team lacked the expertise to address this type of challenge.
He turned to David and Nang. “How do you recommend we begin?”
David rubbed his chin. “From our side, let’s use the team’s experts, Silva and O’Neil, to lead recons around opposite arcs of the city’s perimeter. I’ll head down the middle and recon the most crowded spots, those that’d make the most tempting targets.”
“Like the Olympic Park bombing in Atlanta during the ninety-six Games?” said Alton.
“Exactly.”
“Think that approach would work, Agent Nang?” asked Alton.
“Yes. I’ll send Chegal and Ru on the perimeter patrols. The rest of us can fan out down the middle.”
Alton nodded. As the team descended down a concrete staircase, he gripped the steel handrail, mindful to keep his bad leg from slipping on the snow-covered surface.
The perimeter teams peeled off. The remaining agents had scarcely penetrated the mob when a short, round man with pistoning arms made a beeline for them.
The man wore a ridiculously formal jacket, a royal-blue monstrosity with huge lapels. An oversized badge labeled “OC” had been pinned to the right lapel.
He accosted Nang without preamble. “What’s this I hear about more soldiers being deployed in the Village?”
Nang’s polite smile never wavered. “Honorable Maeng, may I present Mr. Blackwell and the members of his American security team. Mr. Blackwell, I present Sunbae Maeng, chief official of the PyeongChang Olympic Committee.”
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p; The official brushed off the introductions. “Do we really need to bring even more guns and uniformed officers to the venues? It looks bad.”
Alton shook his head. Pulling off an event as gargantuan as the Olympic Games required men of this bureaucrat’s single-minded focus. But for such men, seeing the bigger picture often proved to be hopeless.
Nang took Maeng’s elbow and directed him as the security team plunged into the crowd. “The extra troops are here to protect you and the spectators.”
“But what will the tourists think? Look…do you know what kind of pressure we’re under to deliver a top-notch guest experience? It’s unbelievable. Remember the Chinese opening ceremony, how excellent it was? People say it’s impossible to beat. We don't need rumors of terrorist threats on top of that kind of stress.”
David, a decorated member of both the Army and Secret Service, issued a snort of derision. "Dude, when the killing starts, you're going to have problems a helluva lot worse than bad PR.”
“But don’t we already have enough troops to prevent that? Do we really have to bring in more?”
David swept his arm across the human vista in which they now found themselves enveloped. “This is one of the most densely packed crowds any of us will ever see. How can any number of troops be ‘enough’ to prevent a covert op?”
“Sunbae,” said Nang, using the official’s honorific title, “kindly allow us to investigate this report. We all want the games to proceed smoothly. But surely you agree they must be safe, too? How will your execution of the games been assessed if we allow a security lapse?”
Conflicting emotions flickered across the man’s wizened face. “I suppose…”
Alton pressed the case. “Besides, why wouldn’t spectators like the sight of security? They know the kind of world we live in. Most of them would welcome the peace of mind a law officer provides. They can enjoy the games without having to worry about their safety.”
With great drama, the official exhaled a tortured sigh. “Do what you must. Only I won’t be the one explaining things if the extra patrols draw questions.”
“Of course,” said Nang.
“And our patrols won’t last for long,” said Alton. “Only enough to rule out the presence of a threat.”
As he departed to wind his way through the crush of spectators, Alton forced himself to bite back the rest of the statement. Yes, the patrols wouldn’t last long…because if the threat wasn’t resolved soon, it’d be too late.
CHAPTER 10
Commander Yun assembled his company of special operations soldiers inside the Warren. They stood in formation before General Kyon. The gathering formed a magnificent sight: dozens of young men, bristling with tactical gear, standing at attention in the launching-point warehouse. A part of Yun wished he were young enough to join the lads in their grand adventure. Agent Kam, his youthful colleague, had shown no such interest.
“At ease, men,” said Kyon. He paced in front of the winter-camouflaged troops. “Tomorrow begins a new chapter in our country’s history. And you’ll be the ones writing it.”
Only a stifled cough interrupted the warehouse’s otherwise perfect silence. All eyes were riveted on the general.
“But make no mistake,” he continued. “Great endeavors have never come without cost. I can’t promise you’ll all make it home from this mission alive. But I can promise your names will be emblazoned in glory and shouted from the lips of grateful citizens as true patriots in the cause of our country and our Supreme Leader, President Kim.”
Goosebumps ran up Yun’s arms. No wonder Kyon had risen to the rank of general. He truly knew how to inspire the men. He’d send them to their deaths and make them feel good about it.
The general nodded to Tong, who stood to the right of the formation, then returned his gaze to the troops. “Return with the target materials from the South, and the good doctor here will establish an international dominance like none our republic has ever witnessed.”
With the slightest nod from Kyon, the soldiers broke into an uproarious cheer.
“And now for logistics. Commander Yun tells me the underground drills have reached within a meter of the surface. We’re waiting for the night of the operation to bore through. There’ll be no discoveries by the South this time.”
Kam leaned close and whispered. “This time?”
“I guess you now have the clearance to know: four of our previous tunnels were detected by the South before they could be put to use. Two others experienced cave-ins prior to completion.”
“How do we know this one wasn’t detected?”
“We started from further away from the border,” said Yun, “back in this forest where satellites can’t penetrate. And we’ve dug deeper—much deeper.”
“Wouldn’t digging a deeper tunnel increase the chances of another cave-in? Especially if we’ll have motorcycles running through it.”
“Didn’t you read the briefing? This tunnel has been reinforced with concrete walls. That’s why it took nine years to build. But it’ll be worth it. It’s just big enough for a bike to pass through. And by the way…that’s why we call this place the Warren: it’s not just a camouflaged staging area. Just like a rabbit community, it also connects with extensive underground tunnels.” He paused to smile. “No one will detect the tunnels. With the Olympics starting the day after tomorrow, we’ll have both the means and the opportunity to execute our mission.”
CHAPTER 11
Nang’s intense gaze had to mean something.
Alton sidled over to the man. “What is it?”
“Over there!” whispered Nang, careful not to make a show that would rattle the throngs of tourists. “Ten o’clock position.”
Alton peered in the indicated direction, towards a dining facility constructed in the fashion of a Swiss chalet. Among the human tide, nothing stood out as unusual. “What…?”
“I saw a man walking away from the restaurant complex. The bottom of his left earlobe is missing.” In response to puzzled glances, he continued. “Back in the nineties, a captured North Korean spy provided a photograph of a mole here in the South. That mole was also missing part of his left ear. The man near the restaurants…he looked just like the mole—not just the ear but his overall appearance.”
“Would they really use someone so obvious?” asked Alton.
Camron snickered as he leaned over from Alton’s other side. “Don’t expect the North Koreans to make sense, Mr. Blackwell. Kim’s agents will use a conventional espionage tactic one month but then pull a completely idiotic move the next. Their lack of predictability is one reason his regime is so dangerous.”
Alton gave a resigned shrug. “Let’s go check it out.”
He and his colleagues veered in the direction of the potential agent. They didn’t have to worry about scaring off the target by approaching too quickly. Heavy crowds eliminated that possibility.
“Can you still see him?” asked Mallory.
Nang shook his head.
“What was he wearing?”
“Blue jeans…tan North Face jacket…black baseball cap—which is what made the damaged ear stand out.”
The team members spread out as they approached the chalet. As they progressed, Nang whispered instructions into the microphone clipped into his jacket collar. He turned to Alton. “I have uniformed officers coming from the Village’s eastern side, but they won’t be here for a good ten minutes.”
“So it’ll be up to us to find the suspect,” said Alton, huffing a bit as the exertion on his bad leg began to take its toll.
Reaching the building was taking too long. Despite his discomfort, Alton pushed through the crowd as best he could, but another two minutes elapsed before he and the rest of the team arrived at the spot. The man would have had plenty of time to move on by now.
Alton scanned the crowd for a man matching Nang’s description but found no one. “Anyone see him?”
A series of negatives and head shakes were the only response.
“Let’s spread out in opposite directions,” said Nang. Within seconds, he divided up the team into four squads. “Use your mikes to keep in touch.”
A thirty-minute search proved fruitless. The team members straggled back to their vehicles in the parking deck.
“Crap,” said Alton with a sigh. “I was hoping we would catch our first break. But all we found was a dead end.”
CHAPTER 12
As he limped through the corridors of Seoul’s National Intelligence Service HQ building the next morning, Alton ran a hand through his hair in frustration. They had been so close but had nothing to show for it. The South had never even discovered the mole’s original agenda years ago, making an assessment of his current mission as obscure as the gloomiest night.
The team members entered the building’s counterintelligence command center and took seats. Settling between the banks of electronic equipment conferred a sense of comfort, like coming home after a busy day. Here, Alton’s physical abilities didn’t come into play, but his cryptographic background could prove key in unlocking the North’s plans.
Alton turned to Nang. “Yesterday, we discussed the idea of searching the North’s electronic chatter for any subjects or locations receiving an unusually high amount of air time. The Kruptos search came back negative. Have your analysts come up with anything?”
“Let me check.” Nang booted up his laptop, entered a lengthy password to access an intel system, and studied a series of reports. After five minutes, he stood up and stretched his back. “I felt sure this approach would put us onto a lead, but there’s nothing.”
Alton shook his head. Their streak of bad luck with dead ends hadn’t yet snapped.
When the Killing Starts (The Blackwell Files Book 8) Page 3
