by Brad Thor
The next thing he had to do was reconnoiter the nearby locations where each of the princelings would be arriving. The Second Department referred to them as “entry points.” In an optimal scenario, he would be moving the princelings into the safe house at a rate of one every twelve to forty-eight hours. Tonight, though, he would have to move much quicker. He didn’t like having to do things quickly. So much could go wrong.
Even though the entry points were only a handful of blocks from the safe house, it was still a highly complicated process. Having to move one princeling every hour would only add to the difficulty.
If their tradecraft had failed and any of them were being followed, that added a whole additional layer. Using Chinatown, especially on a busy night, put the odds in his favor. But nothing was a sure thing, especially when the FBI was involved. He was alone and had no backup. Everything would have to be executed flawlessly.
Unit 61398 had tapped into security cameras around Chinatown, creating an overwatch grid he could monitor from his laptop. It wasn’t perfect. There were numerous blind spots. But it was better than nothing.
With his safe house checklist complete, he exited the building and began to explore the neighborhood.
As he walked, he mentally mapped every face, every parked car, and every location for a potential ambush. Within two hours, he knew the area as well as if he had lived there for two years.
It was a surreal sensation knowing that all of the life around him was about to come to an abrupt and painful halt.
CHAPTER 52
* * *
* * *
NORTH KOREA
Navy SEAL Lieutenant Jimi Fordyce had a million and one questions he wanted to ask, but he settled on the first one that had come into his mind: “Dude, what the fuck happened in there?”
Billy Tang’s hands and sleeves were stained with blood. “Some Chinese officer cut himself. Came in looking for the doc. I got to practice medicine without a license.”
“Did you smoke him?”
“I had to.”
“Shit,” Fordyce muttered.
“The body’s locked in the exam room. Nobody’s going to find him until the morning.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” said Tang. “I’m good.”
“Did we get what we needed?”
Tang nodded and handed Fordyce the patch he had taken off the dead Chinese soldier.
“What’s this?”
“A scalp. Let’s get moving and I’ll tell you the rest.”
“Wait,” said Fordyce as he tucked it into his pocket. “What about Ginseng’s sister?”
Tang shook his head. “She didn’t make it.”
Though nothing had been discussed, much less agreed to, Fordyce had half-expected to see Tang come bolting out of the camp with the girl in tow or over his shoulder. After everything their family had been through, those children deserved a happy ending. But happy endings in North Korea were in exceedingly short supply.
After retrieving their packs, they chose their path back up over the mountain as carefully as they could, but they needed to move quickly. The side trip to the infirmary had already cost them and Tang’s being forced to spend extra time inside had only put them further behind schedule. If they were not at the rendezvous location on time, Hyun Su would leave without them. Those had been his orders.
At the top of the ridgeline, they found some concealment and stopped to take their first break. It had been a grueling climb and both men were sucking wind. Fordyce activated his radio and sent one click, followed by two more. A moment later, his message was answered with a single click. Tucker and Johnson were halfway down on the other side waiting for them.
Though both men were still heaving, Fordyce gave them only a minute more before signaling that it was time again to move.
The way down was no less dangerous than the way up. Gravity was like a dull narcotic tugging at their tired bodies, offering to help them get down the mountain faster if only they’d give in. Fordyce knew all too well that if they sped up, their chances of injury would go through the roof. They had made it this far without incident and he intended to see the entire team back to the coast and to their extraction in one piece.
Hitting the loose scree, they lost their footing several times. Recovering was like catching a pencil rolling off a desk. If you didn’t react immediately, the opportunity was gone. Both Fordyce and Tang took one good stumble each, the momentum of coming downhill only adding to the difficulty of pulling out of the fall. By the time they reached the tree line, their mouths were dry, their bodies were covered in perspiration, and their legs were on fire. But they had picked up some of their lost time. Fordyce signaled another rest break.
Activating his radio, he transmitted a different series of clicks and then waited. Moments later, he received a response and began scanning the terrain beneath them.
When he picked up the tiny orb of infrared light through his night vision goggles, he tapped Tang on the shoulder and pointed to where they were headed. Three and a half minutes later, they were again on the move.
Arriving at Johnson and Tucker’s hide, the team members fist-bumped as Fordyce and Tang shrugged off their packs and sucked down a ton of water from their Camelbaks.
“How is he?” Fordyce whispered once he had gotten enough of his breath back.
Tucker looked at Jin-Sang and then back at the lieutenant. “He’s pretty doped up. That ride back is going to suck for him.”
Fordyce remembered how many potholes they had hit and how uneven the roads had been. It was a rough ride without a tib/fib fracture. Tucker was smart to have upped the little boy’s pain medication.
“What the fuck happened?” Johnson asked, staring at Tang’s bloodstained clothes. “Cut yourself shaving?”
With the bite valve of his water bladder between his teeth, Tang smiled and said, “Actually, cut somebody else shaving.”
“Who was she?”
Tang flipped him the finger and Johnson smiled. It was one of the first moments of camaraderie between the men.
As Fordyce filled them in on what had happened, he showed them the patch Billy Tang had taken from the dead Chinese officer.
“You are a crazy motherfucker,” Johnson said to the CIA man. “Good job.”
“What about the sister?” Tucker asked.
Tang shook his head. “You were right. TB. She was never going to make it.”
“Did you?” the corpsman asked, alluding to another reason there might have been blood on his hands.
“No. When I went back to her bed to get my SIG, she had already passed.”
“Are you going to tell him?” he asked, tilting his head toward the little boy.
“Not now,” Tang replied. “The less pain he feels, physically and emotionally, the better off this operation is going to be.”
That was the smart play for right now and Tucker nodded his head.
“What kind of intel did the sister have?” Johnson asked. “Was it worth it?”
It was, and Tang kept his explanation short. Johnson and Tucker were stunned, but not surprised. Everyone, particularly those in the military and intelligence communities, knew that an attack of the type and magnitude the Chinese had planned was only a matter of time.
Shouldering their packs, Tucker took point, followed by Fordyce and Tang, who carried the makeshift stretcher with Jin-Sang. Johnson brought up the rear.
It was much easier going and they made it to the bottom without any falls or twisted ankles. Once there, they hid themselves and waited.
Five minutes after the agreed-to rendezvous time, Fordyce looked at Tang and pointed to his watch. The CIA man had no idea why Hyun Su was late and could only shrug in response.
When five minutes turned to twenty, and then to a half hour, Fordyce pulled out his map and began refreshing himself with the details of their contingency plan.
There was a river twenty klicks away. If they followed it downstream another ten kilometers, the
y would come to a mining camp that had its own rail line. Anything headed east would shave off half to three-quarters of the distance they needed to travel to get to the coast.
“Fuck that,” Johnson said. “It’ll take forever with the kid.”
“I’m open to any better ideas you may have,” Fordyce replied.
Pointing down toward the road, Johnson said, “We’ll wait until somebody comes along and then jack ’em.”
Fordyce shook his head. “Nobody travels this road. We could be here for weeks.”
Just then, the growl of a diesel engine could be heard climbing uphill in their direction.
Johnson raised his eyebrows.
“Sounds like our ride,” said Tang.
“What if it isn’t?” Johnson asked.
Fordyce looked over at Tucker. “Tuck, how clean a shot do you have?”
“It depends. What do you want me to hit?”
“The driver.”
Tucker shook his head. “Lot of branches between here and there.”
“Be ready to take a shot. If that isn’t Hyun Su’s rig coming up that hill, you’re cleared hot.”
“Roger that,” said Tucker as he leaned into the butt of his rifle.
They all listened as the growling got closer. Whatever was coming, it didn’t sound like Hyun Sun’s truck.
“Coming into range,” said Tucker as he flipped off his safety and began applying pressure to his trigger. “Three seconds.”
When the truck came into view, it was obviously not Hyun Su’s.
“Send it,” said Fordyce.
“Wait!” Tang interjected. “Don’t shoot.”
“What the—” Johnson began to say.
“It’s Hyun Su,” replied Tang, handing his binoculars to Fordyce. “Look. It’s him.”
“He’s right,” said Tucker, easing off his trigger.
Fordyce looked through the binoculars. “Where’s the truck he used to get us here?”
Leaving his rifle and the rest of his gear, Tang stashed his pistol beneath his tunic and prepared to receive the truck. “I’m going to go find out.”
With the SEALs covering him, Tang walked down to the side of the road, staying hidden by the tree line for as long as he could.
When he arrived at the vehicle, Hyun Su had already leaped out of the cab and was busy opening the doors in back.
“Where have you been?” Tang asked.
“My truck broke down.”
“Where’d you get this one?”
“I borrowed it.”
Tang looked at him. “By ‘borrow,’ do you mean you stole it?”
“Do you want me to take it back?”
“No,” the CIA operative replied as he signaled it was safe for the team to come out of the woods.
Hyun Su watched as they came, carrying the little boy on the stretcher. “Where’d he come from?”
“We borrowed him,” said Tang.
When Hyun Su opened the doors in back, the cargo area was completely empty. There were no boxes, no fake cargo to hide the team behind.
“What if we get stopped?” Tang asked.
“Then you’d better have a lot of whiskey and Playboy magazines.”
The CIA operative translated for Fordyce as the team climbed up into the truck. Once they got Jin-Sang in and Tang had changed into a fresh tunic, they closed the doors and got their show back on the road.
As Hyun Su drove, he detailed what had happened and what he had had to do in order to secure another vehicle. Even though it was a smaller truck, with no faux cargo and a much less healthy engine, it was a godsend and Tang complimented the young smuggler on his resourcefulness. As long as it got them where they were going, everything might be okay.
Hyun Su avoided asking Tang anything about his assignment. He knew better than that. Even if he had asked, the CIA operative wouldn’t have told him. They did, though, talk about Jin-Sang. It was obvious from his clothing that he had been in a labor camp. It was also obvious from the mask, the stretcher, and the splint fashioned around his leg that he wasn’t in the best of shape.
Tang explained to Hyun Su that he needed to get the boy across into South Korea as soon as possible. As they drove, they discussed options and began to formulate a plan.
Tang was already projecting further than just getting the little boy into South Korea. What he knew and what he had seen was highly valuable. Very important people at the Agency were going to want to debrief him. But then what? Who was going to take responsibility for him?
Tang thought about his own family, how they often discussed the horrors of North Korea, and while not particularly religious, how they prayed for the people there. Would his wife and children open their home, and more important, their hearts, to that little boy? The adjustment wouldn’t be easy for any of them, especially Jin-Sang.
The prisoners who did manage to escape often had difficulty fitting in. They carried a tremendous amount of survivor’s guilt and could be antisocial, even suicidal. Tang, though, felt Jin-Sang was different. The little boy understood the importance of family, and even though his had been taken from him, perhaps, in time, he could learn to love a new family. With those thoughts in mind, Tang leaned back and closed his eyes.
• • •
The CIA operative had no idea how long he had been asleep. The dramatic slowing of the truck jolted him awake. Immediately he reached for his SIG Sauer in the door pocket as his head swiveled from side to side.
“What is it?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
Hyun Su pointed up ahead and replied, “Checkpoint.”
“Checkpoint? I thought there weren’t supposed to be any checkpoints on this road.”
“There’s one now.”
Tang swore under his breath. Opening the rear window of the cab, he rapped on the cargo area to alert the SEALs that there was trouble and then sat back down.
“What do you want me to do?” Hyun Su asked.
“Just stay calm and let me do the talking.”
CHAPTER 53
* * *
* * *
The checkpoint seemed to be manned by an unnecessarily large detachment of six heavily armed police officers.
Everyone in North Korea was on the take. And while it was likely a shakedown operation meant to solicit bribes from smugglers who plied the country’s rural roads, Tang didn’t like it. Their presence, on this road of all roads, could easily represent something else. Had the dead Chinese officer been discovered already? Had the camp finally noticed Jin-Sang’s disappearance? Did the police know that their truck had been stolen?
As Hyun Su brought the vehicle to a stop, Tang reminded him to keep his eyes down and remain deferential. They had been through these kinds of “checkpoints” together before and they knew how they operated.
The senior officer, a man about Tang’s age, stood with a pistol in a leather holster and his hand out in an officious stop gesture. The North Korean police reminded Tang of the Gestapo. The ones in the countryside seemed more prone to the spit and polish, rules and regs, than those in the city, who were a lot more lax about their duties. For some reason, police in the countryside were quasi royalty and they lorded it over all of the rural inhabitants.
Bowing obsequiously, Tang stepped out of the truck, canvas bag in hand. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he repeated in Korean.
“What are you thanking me for, you moron?” the officer demanded.
“The roads are safe,” he said, bowing again to the officer and then to his men. They all carried AK-47s and shared the same bored look. “You and your men have done a very good job. Very good.”
“What’s in your truck?” the officer demanded.
“Goose feathers!”
“Goose feathers,” the policeman repeated. “You must think we’re stupid.”
“No, sir. No, sir. Very intelligent indeed. And a man of good taste!”
A grin appeared on the cop’s face. “What makes you say that?”
“You look
like a whiskey man to me,” said Tang.
As he reached into his bag, several officers brought their rifles up. They weren’t as blasé as they originally appeared.
Slowly, he removed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and held it up for the police commander to see.
The cop stepped forward, accepted the bottle, and addressing his men, said, “There seems to be a very good living to be made in goose feathers.”
Several of the men chuckled. The ones with their weapons raised remained expressionless. Tang was starting to get the feeling that this crew was more than a little dangerous.
“What else do you have in that magic bag of yours?” the policeman asked.
The CIA operative smiled and fished out three Playboys, but kept them clasped to his chest. “Something only real men, refined men, could appreciate.”
Slowly, Tang turned them around and showed him. There was a chorus of approval from the policemen who had just been chuckling.
The commander accepted the magazines and tucked them under his arm.
Tang smiled.
The commander looked at him. “That’s it? That’s all you have? A bottle of whiskey and a few magazines?”
“Please, sir. We are just trying to get home.”
“Sure you are,” the police officer said with a smile. “So are we. What else do you have?”
Tang produced the cigarettes.
“Aha!” the commander cheered. “I knew it! Hand them over.”
Tang did as he was told.
“Now, if only you could pull a hot meal from that bag, our evening would be complete.”
“If I could,” Tang said, “what kind of meal would you want?”
The police commander was suddenly frozen in thought. When he spoke, it was with an entirely different tone. “You have an unusual accent,” he said. “Where are you from?”
The CIA operative had worked hard on his dialects, but he knew they weren’t perfect.
