“Yeah, you’re right,” replied Alton, glancing at his own watch. “In a half-dozen hours or so, the North Koreans’ Olchin attack force will probably be back across the border. We have to assume that once that diversion mission is complete, the primary mission—whatever it is—will be wrapping up, too. Our priority now is determining if Yanggu and Heat Wave is their true goal. Whatever their mission is, we have to stop it in the next six hours, or it’ll be too late. The mission will surely be over.”
CHAPTER 43
Alton sat back in his chair and stretched out his bad leg, still sore from recent exertion. “Let’s refocus on the Heat Wave angle. It’s not only our best lead. It’s our only one. Let’s see what we can dig up from the intercepted messages.”
The team members dispersed back to their seats to continue the review of North Korea’s communications.
Mallory approached her husband and lowered her voice. “I checked out the travel time on my phone. It’s a two-hour drive to Yanggu. I think we should head on over there now.”
“Even though we’re not sure it’s the target?”
“It’s a calculated risk. It won’t do us any good to confirm Heat Wave is the target if the North’s troops have already come and gone.”
“And if it isn’t the target?”
“Like I said—a calculated risk. What are the odds we’ll discover and confirm another plot in time to actually reach the physical location in the next six hours?”
“Point taken,” said Alton. He raised his voice so all in the room could hear. “Can we gather back around for a few minutes?”
He explained Mallory’s suggestion to the group.
“Makes sense to me,” said David. “Going there would give us a fighting chance of catching the enemy troops in the middle of whatever shenanigans they have planned.”
“Yep,” replied Alton. “And we can keep researching on our laptops on the way. Maybe we’ll discover what they have planned.”
“That would certainly help us develop a counterattack,” said O’Neil.
“Should I alert the local authorities to rendezvous with us there?” asked Chegal. “We’ll probably be outnumbered if we take them on ourselves.”
Alton rubbed his chin. “If we call the local cops, what are the odds that news of our journey there would leak back to the North Koreans?”
“I would have said not much. But after seeing how Nang was able to hide his identity for the past week, now I’m not sure. There could be other moles ready to report back information on our movements.”
David leaned in. “Security one-oh-one: the more people become aware of an operation, the greater the likelihood of a leak. That’s what makes the Secret Service so damn hard. Everyone knows in advance where the president is headed.”
“I say we keep this mission to ourselves,” said Alton. “We can always call the closest authorities for backup once we’re there.”
Simultaneous nods from the team members confirmed this assessment.
“Okay, then let’s roll.”
The team broke and began stuffing their laptops into black nylon backpacks. O’Neil and Sergeant Chegal cinched up off-white duffle bags packed with tactical gear and hefted them over their broad shoulders. The bulky sacks jostled with laptop bags for position.
“Change into winter camo uniforms and meet in the garage in fifteen,” called Alton over the bustle of activity.
Silva rose from her wheelchair and limped over to Alton. “What about me? You gonna leave me here?” Her defiant eyes bore into him.
Alton drummed three fingers on his lips. “When we were ambushed in the Seoraksan Mountains, I sure could have used eyes on the whole battlefield. I need a rear observer in the field with us. What would you think about that role?”
Silva looked ready to object, so Alton continued. “I know I can’t deploy you into combat. You’ll slow down the other troops and put us all at risk.”
The appeal to her loyalty paid off. She produced a weak grin. “I guess being an observer from behind the lines is better than no role at all.”
“Much better. I was planning on assigning someone else from a forward position to act as rear observer. But with you in that role, I’ll have one more soldier up there with me.”
The agent’s demeanor improved a bit more. “Okay. Looks like I have my assignment.”
Twenty minutes later, two armored Hyundai SUVs sped east towards the hamlet of Yanggu.
Mallory raised her voice to be heard over the engine’s growl. “Alton, what do we tell General Zheng?”
“Nothing yet. I don’t like the idea of lying to him, but I’m also afraid of a leak if we tell him where we’re headed. Going dark is the best approach—for him and for Agent Vega.”
“I guess,” said Mallory, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “But it’ll make it harder to get their support if we need it.”
“Like you said, a calculated risk.” He glanced into the rearview mirror. “You doing okay back there, Silva?”
“Yeah.”
Alton glanced again. “You don’t look okay. Are your stitches coming loose?”
“Naw. I won’t lie. The wounds hurt. But all my parts are staying where they’re supposed to be.”
“You sure? That was quite a scowl.”
Silva sighed, audible even to Alton in the front seat. “I have a lot on my mind right now.”
“I can understand that. You sustained a major wound, and now you’re headed back into the field. You’d have to be superhuman to stay tranquil under these circumstances.”
“I guess, but that’s not what’s eating me.” The transport bumped along in silence for a moment. “It’s…I was starting to think O’Neil was a standup guy.”
“But now?” asked Mallory.
“Looks like he’s into the same stuff every other guy is.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Alton. “Surely he didn’t…?” He glanced to the backseat.
“No, nothing like that. But for a while he didn’t seem like a typical guy. He was interested in his kids and in a good conversation. Now that I’m damaged goods, though…” She held up her injured arm and let it drop.
“What’s changed?”
“He’s more distant. And only one time has he asked how I’m doing. It’s like it didn’t faze him that I was so hurt.”
“Silva,” said Alton. “He took you to the hospital and stayed with you the entire time you were unconscious—against my orders, I might add.”
She remained silent.
“And he gave me status updates from the docs every time I went in your hospital room,” continued Alton. “He stayed on top of your progress throughout your recovery.”
Silva looked down, then spoke at last. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Why should he have to?”
Again the silence.
“I may be wrong,” said Alton, “but it seems to me one of the reasons you like O’Neil is because he’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t make a point of telling you about his hospital vigil. He does what needs to be done without tooting his own horn about it.”
“Yeah, I guess…” She sat back. A brief glance in the rearview mirror revealed a change in Silva’s demeanor. A thoughtful look now crossed her countenance.
The journey continued in silence, giving Alton time to ruminate on the conversation. He certainly hadn’t intended to play matchmaker. But the thought of Silva misjudging O’Neil didn’t sit right somehow. Wherever their friendship went from here, at least it would be grounded in the truth.
CHAPTER 44
Mallory examined the map application on her phone. “Ten minutes ‘til we reach Yanggu.”
Alton keyed the mike on his short-range radio to contact the trailing vehicle. “David, this is Alton. You copy?”
“Roger, Al.” His voice shimmered with the ever-changing frequencies of the voice scrambler.
“Any luck finding new leads on the North’s activity in Yanggu?”
“Neg
ative.”
“Same here. I’ll head north and circle around to Heat Wave from that direction, on the opposite side from the entrance road. We’ll stop about a klick short and advance on foot.”
“Roger.”
Several minutes later, the two Hyundais ground to a halt on the shoulder of a two-lane road that wound between rolling foothills. As the team members exited, sparse snowflakes drifted to the ground.
“Good stopping point,” observed Alton to his wife. Their position at the top of the last foothill overlooking a petite valley afforded an excellent view of what looked to be the Heat Wave site. Inside a rectangular fence, a pair of brick buildings faced each other. The single road leading onto the site lay on the opposite side from which Alton and his team would approach.
The teammates buckled on white-camouflaged web gear and used it to store extra ammo, grenades, C4 explosive, and medical kits. Alton directed Camron to carry a K5 military pistol rather than a K2 rifle, handguns being the only piece of their arsenal with which the analyst had experience. Due to his wounded shoulder, Corporal Ru also carried a pistol.
Once finished with their preparations, the teammates huddled in a circle between the armored vehicles.
Alton glanced around to the others. “We don’t know why the North is interested in Heat Wave. Hell, we don’t know for sure that they are. This could be a trap specifically designed to lure us in.”
“If you’re trying to inspire us with confidence,” said David, “it isn’t working.”
Alton chuckled. “I’ve seen this team in combat. There’s no reason for us to lack confidence. But at the same time, confidence is also built on having a realistic grasp of mission risks. Since we don’t know what the North Koreans are up to, we have to be ready for anything.
“Silva will remain here and put eyes on the site. You got your binoculars?”
She hefted them up from the loop on her neck and gave them a single back-and-forth shake.
“We’ll leave the comm equipment on so she can stay in touch, but observe radio silence unless absolutely necessary. Camron, if we pick up enemy chatter and you learn something germane to the mission, let me know by whispering it to me.”
“Will do.”
“We’ll advance by twos. Mallory and I will take point. Camron and O’Neil, you’re in the middle. Chegal and Ru, you bring up the rear. Stay on my ass, and keep your eyes and ears sharp.”
Everyone nodded.
“Let’s roll.”
Weapons drawn, the teammates moved toward the tech company in silence, a thin coating of snow muffling the crunch of their boots on the road’s gravel surface.
Too bad he couldn’t ask Vega to train the thermal-detection satellites on these buildings to pick up enemy heat signatures. Infrared technology had no way to distinguish North Korean soldiers from company employees. Vega hadn’t reported any troop movements in this area. Given the Northerners’ stealth, though, the lack of detection proved little.
So now here he was, advancing towards a potential battle with both South Korean and American supervisors unaware of his mission. That should guarantee his visit would be a surprise—at least he hoped it would.
Before long, Alton’s damaged leg began to throb. He tipped three painkillers from a container in his med kit and swallowed them with a swig from a water bottle Velcroed to the rear band of his web gear. It wouldn’t eliminate the pain but might take off the edge.
Alton turned to check on the team. Plumes of vaporized breath rose from each trudging form.
As he turned back to the front, a different sort of plume caught his eye. He put up his hand in a “halt” motion, and the crunch of boots ceased.
He turned to Mallory. “Do you see that? Down at the Heat Wave site?”
His wife squinted. “What…?”
“That second plume from the right. It’s not heating-duct vapor like the rest. It’s darker, more like—”
“Smoke,” finished Mallory, “from a fire.”
Alton turned back. “Something’s going down at the Heat Wave site. Let’s move!”
They descended the remaining slope in a matter of minutes, at times stumbling on the icy gravel but always pressing forward.
They reached a split-rail wooden fence that seemed strangely out of place amongst the region’s traditional Asian architecture. Nailed to the top fence was a placard sporting Korean characters.
It says, “Private Property. Do Not Enter,” said Chegal.
David snorted. “That’s never stopped us before.”
“And it won’t stop a North Korean strike team, either,” said Alton. He listened. No sound reached him, but there was no mistaking the pungent odor of smoke.
Alton raised Silva on the radio. “You see anything?”
“Looks like smoke coming from the building on the left,” she replied. “I figured you’d see it too so I didn’t break radio silence for that.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Nope.”
Alton ended the transmission and leaned over to his teammates, who huddled together just outside the fence “We don’t know what’s going on in there,” he whispered. “We’ll penetrate the building that’s on fire to seek out enemy soldiers and search for Heat Wave employees who might need help.
“Advance by twos. Be ready to lay down covering fire—not you, Camron, but the rest of you know what to do. Mallory and I will go first.”
Mallory slipped between the fence rails. Alton followed—an awkward process with his throbbing leg—and scurried as best he could to a pair of staid evergreens growing just inside an asphalt path running parallel to the fence.
He peered around the fir tree. Smoke poured from the smashed pane of an oversized window centered on the bottom floor of the three-story, brick building. Roiling plumes and the lick of flames could be discerned inside adjacent windows with their panes still intact.
“If this is a trap,” he said to Mallory, “they’ve gone to great lengths to set it.”
“It looks like a legit attack to me,” she replied. “But what’s the point of destroying a tech site like Heat Wave? What makes it so important it needed a decoy attack first?”
“My question exactly. Let’s get the rest of the team in here and find out.”
CHAPTER 45
Skirting from decorative boulders to a cement bench to a clump of evergreens, Alton and Mallory approached the eastern building, the one from which smoke continued to pour forth.
Emerging from behind a fir tree, Alton nearly stumbled over a figure in a rumpled lab coat lying face down in the snow. He knelt down to feel for a pulse on the man’s neck.
“Sweetie, we can’t stay here,” whispered Mallory, swiveling her head in all directions to look for enemy troops.
Alton stood up, feeling grim. “No need. He’s dead.”
They ducked back behind the trees, aware that too much time had passed to advance to the next source of cover: a brick grill on the edge of a courtyard lying between the two buildings.
By this time, O’Neil and Camron joined the Blackwells behind the cover of the fir trees.
“Seen anyone?” whispered Alton.
They shook their heads.
Alton nodded towards the direction of the grill. “Cover us.”
Alton gave the go sign. Mallory darted for the brick structure while Alton limped along behind her as best he could.
Along the way, he swiveled his head, from building to building, looking for snipers.
A new fear took up residence in his stomach. The approach to the enflamed structure was no good. Rows of windows from both buildings overlooked the paved courtyard his team was using as a corridor. But there was no other way to reach the eastern building’s entrance.
Continuing their advance, Alton and Mallory at last reached the steel door leading into the enflamed building. Surprisingly, no shots had rung out—not that he was complaining.
Alton lifted his hand to push open the door but hesitated. He used hand signals
to motion Mallory behind a nearby decorative tree dusted with snow. She cocked her head in confusion but complied.
Alton pushed open the door and fell flat to the entrance’s concrete surface. Nothing.
He motioned for Mallory to return, and they leapt inside the smoky hallway.
“What was that about?” asked Mallory.
“It occurred to me that if I were a North Korean, and I was going to set a trap, this is where I’d do it—right inside the burning building that would attract the mission team like a moth to flame.”
Mallory’s eyes glistened. “You expected a booby-trap and got me out of the way.”
“I hoped there wouldn’t be one. But didn’t see any reason for us to waltz in there together if there was.” He took a few steps into the passage and held an arm to his mouth to block the smoke. The other team members burst through the door within seconds. Most seemed reasonably composed, but Camron stood with wide eyes and heaving chest—whether due to exertion or anxiety, only he knew.
“Look,” said Corporate Ru, pointing to a glass emergency case mounted to the wall. “The equipment to breathe. How do you say it?”
“Respirators,” said Alton. “Everyone put one on.” Since entering the building, the acrid stench of burning plastics and musty smells had assaulted their noses. Besides providing clean air, the equipment would block out the stomach-turning odors.
After donning her respirator, Mallory turned to her husband. “Interesting that none of the employees used these.”
“Maybe they escaped before the fire started.”
“Could be. The only person we’ve seen so far was the dead guy outside.”
“Let’s go,” said Alton, motioning with his head toward the end of the hallway. “And watch your step.” White foam covered the floor, rendering it slick to walk on.
Weapons drawn, they crept down the long entry hallway, looking into the glass-paned top half of each door they passed.
David’s feet slid in front of him but he caught himself before falling. “Feels like I’m back in the snow.”
“What is this stuff?” asked Camron, high-stepping through dissipating bubbles.
When the Killing Starts (The Blackwell Files Book 8) Page 14
