Turbulent Wake (Jason Wake Book 4)

by Matthew Rief

  Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. “You tracking it?”

  “Bird’s flying southwest. Sticking to the flight plan.”

  “Let me know if it deviates its course.”

  Scott cursed after ending the call, then hailed Jason with his radio. “Looks like we missed it, kid. We’ll just have to track—” He paused a moment, then said, “Jase, you there?”

  No reply.

  He tried twice more but got the same result.

  A member of the police’s tactical unit caught up with Scott and Alejandra as they reached their car. The experienced law enforcement officer had been in communication with Scott since they’d landed.

  “Firefighters have managed to douse the cockpit and forward section of the cabin,” the man said. “Two charred bodies have been located.”

  “Just two?” Alejandra said.

  The man nodded. “Unless there were others hiding out with the cargo, but we’ll figure that out soon. And as you suspected, we’ve found indications of a primary explosive device.”

  Scott asked the man to keep him updated, then he and Alejandra hopped into the BMW.

  Alejandra raised her eyebrows. “What’s the play now?”

  “We need to track the UN jet,” Scott said, firing up the engine and accelerating onto the runway. “Pilot’s switching off their comms with ATCs is about as common as a heatwave in Iceland.”

  As they reached the edge of the airport, Scott’s phone rang. The ATCs at Keflavik were calling to inform him that the jet had switched off its tracker. Scott cursed, then exhaled forcefully. The day was just getting better and better.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Haan Sung-Jun adjusted his tie in the bathroom mirror after the jet lifted off the tarmac. He was wearing a fitted black suit and had his dark hair slicked back. A minute after takeoff, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick message. Once he received a reply, Haan adjusted a gold pen in his front pocket, then cracked his neck and pushed out into the rear section of the main cabin.

  A flight attendant, who was just unbuckling from her jump seat, pressed a hand to her chest, startled by the man’s sudden appearance. “Sir, you can’t use the restrooms at this time,” she said, casting a suspicious gaze.

  Haan waved a casual hand and shot her a disarming smile. “My mistake.”

  The stewardess nodded as he turned and pushed forward, ignoring the pain burning up his leg from the ice axe wound. The interior of the private Bombardier was lined with spacious seating areas and tables and had a private meeting room in the back. A group of delegates chatted around a table, while others typed away on their laptops or reclined while wearing sleep masks.

  Haan made brief eye contact with the closest of the six security guards. The wide-shouldered bald man eyed Haan skeptically as the Korean surveyed the cabin. Seeing the guard lean forward and rise to his feet in his peripherals, Haan turned back to the flight attendant station. The stewardess had vacated through a door toward the tail section. Moving behind a half-strung curtain, Haan scanned the counter and spotted a shelf with mini bottles of Jack Daniels.

  “Sir, I don’t recognize you from the manifest,” the guard said. He took a step toward Haan, cutting the distance between them to just five feet and hovering a hand over his holstered Beretta.

  “I am the personal assistant to General Kang Ryong-Jin.” Haan swiped two bottles from the bin while removing the pen from his front pocket with his other hand. He slid out a two-inch hidden blade. “He’s thirsty.”

  The man raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Who the hell is General Kang Ry—”

  As Haan turned to face the guard, his hand grazed a cupboard, and the two bottles slipped from his grasp, crashing to the deck at their feet.

  Haan kept his eyes locked on the agent as the man glanced down, momentarily distracted by the shattering glass and spilling spirits. The brief lapse was just enough time for Haan to lunge forward and stab the knife up through the bottom of the man’s neck.

  The agent’s body shook, and Haan wrapped a strong arm around him, jamming the tip deeper while jerking him quietly down to the floor behind the curtain. Pinning him with a knee, Haan yanked the pen free and stabbed the man again, this one finishing him off. Shoving the hefty agent onto his back, Haan grabbed the Beretta, then slid out an Omega suppressor from his pocket and screwed it onto the muzzle.

  Haan looked up just as the door to the rear conference room opened and the flight attendant returned. Her jaw hit the deck when she saw the pistol in Haan’s hand and the blood on his shirt. She began to squeal, but her words were cut off by Haan pouncing forward and bashing the grip of his newly acquired firearm into her temple. The woman fell lifelessly to the deck, her silenced cries echoing across the cabin.

  Before she’d even struck the ground, Haan sprang to the aisle. Aiming into a seating area a couple rows ahead, he put two rounds into the chest of another agent as the man jumped to his feet, the blows whacking him back into the chair. Even with the pistol suppressed, the fired bullets made enough noise for the entire cabin to be alerted. Panic set in among the passengers, and the UN representatives and their aides yelled out and dropped to the deck for cover.

  Haan put down another guard before taking cover behind a row of seats. Up ahead, a second terrorist appeared from the forward flight attendant station, having been holed up in a large stowage locker. Haan held his gun hand around the corner and opened fire, covering his companion. The second hijacker managed to catch the remaining security personnel off guard, quickly taking down two with shots to the back before they realized the man was there.

  Within seconds, the plane was theirs, all of the guards lying motionless and bleeding out.

  “Everybody, facedown on the floor, now!” Haan shouted, scanning his pistol across the cabin. Striding down the aisle, he turned around when he reached the front row of seats. “Anyone tries to make a move, and we open fire.” Haan nodded to his buddy, who stood stoically, facing aft with his pistol raised. Haan moved for the cockpit door and pressed his ear to the thick metal, listening intently.

  “You’ll . . . never get in there,” a woman’s voice said.

  Haan eyed the other flight attendant in the corner, the middle-aged woman lying on her side with blood dripping from her forehead. The terrorist stared at her as he raised his left hand, then gently rapped his knuckles against the door.

  The woman displayed a soft, satisfying smile that quickly vanished when the cockpit door hinged outward. General Kang stood in the doorway, a bloody knife clutched in his right hand. Just behind the General stood Dr. Chang-Nam and the final member of their team. The two pilots sat motionless in the cockpit seats beside an open hatch in the deck leading down to a maintenance space.

  Kang nodded to Haan, then placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. After the brief display of mutual respect, Haan turned back to the flight attendant. The woman looked like she was staring at a ghost when Haan stepped toward her.

  “You were saying?” Haan punctuated his words with a brutal kick that put her to sleep.

  Kang peered into the main cabin.

  “All clear,” Haan said.

  “Good,” Kang said, eyeing one of the men in the cockpit. “Keep us under five thousand feet and one hundred knots for now. Just above stall speed.”

  The aviator nodded, then they dragged the dead pilots to the ground and took over. Seeing his order being followed, the General turned and marched into the cabin. The hijackers prodded the fifteen UNSC members and their aides to the back of the cabin, then Kang addressed the terrified group.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Some of you no doubt already know who I am. But for those who don’t, I am General Kang Ryong-Jin of the People’s Republic of North Korea. For the past two days, I am the one you’ve been looking for. And I am the one who, at a time very soon, will be unleashing this powerful, recently dis
covered virus. As you can see, your attempts to stop me have been in vain.” He scanned the sea of panicky faces, then cleared his throat. “I am sure that you’re all anxious to get off this plane, so I shall help you in that regard by making your departures as swift and efficient as possible. Starting with the representative from the Russian Federation.”

  The Russian’s face scrunched up, and he cursed as the gunmen subdued him and lashed his hands behind his back using part of a seatbelt. Haan approached a side door and slid the arming lever into the disarm position. After a nod from the General, Haan lifted the control handle. Since they were under eight thousand feet, there was little differential pressure across the plug door, allowing Haan to push it outward. Bone-chilling wind howled in through the aperture as the door slid sideways and locked into the fully open position.

  Haan held on to the handle as Kang peeked out into the hazy sky. Through breaks in the clouds, he could see brief glimpses of the white-capped Atlantic a mile below. Sheets of rain flew past, thunder erupted around them, and occasional strikes of lightning flashed and crackled.

  After following Kang’s order to secure the Russian representative to part of one of the flight attendant carts, the terrorists ushered him to the opening, holding him just inches from the frame.

  “Your fate is sealed,” Kang said, staring fiercely into the man’s eyes. “You will die alone and cold. And no one will ever find a trace of your body, which will rest at the bottom of the sea.”

  The Russian snarled. “You soulless, son of a—”

  The General reared back and kicked the man in the chest. The Russian representative flailed out into the frigid air, his screams dying off instantly as he free-fell into the storm. Kang watched for a moment as the Russian spun wildly, picking up speed as he soared toward the ocean.

  The General picked out his next victim—the United States UNSC member—and ushered him to the door.

  Just before being tossed to his death, the American said, “How in the hell did you get on this plane? Who’s helping you?”

  The General smiled ominously, then leaned forward and whispered the truth into the man’s ear. Shocked pale, the American had no time to utter a word before Kang hurled him out of the plane.

  The General and his men repeated the process, forcing the members and their aides to the door at gunpoint and shoving them out to their deaths. Rubbing it in their enemies’ faces, one at a time, Kang picked off the men and women assigned to tracking him and putting a stop to his secret operation. Soon, there were only two diplomats left.

  Kang eyed Zhao Song, the member from China. Only he and Anna Johannsdottir, the representative from Iceland, remained. Grabbing Zhao by the arm, Kang hoisted the man to his feet and dragged him toward the open door. When Kang’s men called out to him from the cockpit, he shoved Zhao into a chair and then moved to the pilot’s seat.

  “We need to ascend and pick up speed,” the man at the controls said. “There are jets approaching.”

  As much as the General wanted to finish the dramatic spectacle he’d started, he gave the pilot the okay to ascend and accelerate and ordered the side door to be shut.

  “You two got lucky,” Kang said, migrating back into the cabin and eyeing the two remaining diplomats. “But rest assured, I’ll deal with you soon enough”—he leaned down and eyed them sinisterly—“whenever I stumble upon another method of execution fitting for two worthless rats like yourselves.”

  The General moved forward, grabbing onto the tops of seats as the jet rapidly ascended to its cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet.

  “We’re at five hundred knots,” the pilot said when the General stepped into the cockpit. “The jets are out of radar. We will reach our destination at eighteen hundred hours.”

  General Kang placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Good.” He pulled out his sat phone and sent a message to the rest of his team, telling them to prepare for their arrival and for the processing of the virus samples.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Jason awoke from the pressure change. He sprang up from the softest piece of luggage he’d found and checked the time. It was five forty-five, and the timer he’d started indicated that they’d been airborne for just over three hours.

  He listened to the chorus of mechanical sounds as the plane descended. Sitting against the forward bulkhead of the hold, he propped himself up as the jet banked around before slowing for an approach.

  Based on the info he’d found in a maintenance manual, he’d stowed aboard a Bombardier CRJ-200. He was somewhat familiar with that model and knew the plane had a cruising speed of roughly five hundred knots. Assuming the pilots had been flying near that speed, Jason did quick math to deduce that they could be anywhere within seventeen hundred miles. With that range, most of Europe, half of Greenland, and large portions of Northeastern Canada were all possibilities.

  Really narrows it down.

  As the jet continued its descent, he thought back to what happened after he first stowed away. He’d spent his first minutes aboard checking over luggage and searching for a clue when he was interrupted by a series of muffled shouts and low hissing sounds he’d recognized as suppressed pistol fire. Then wind rushed in an open side door in the cabin, followed by a long trail of more shouts and cries.

  Having searched for a means of climbing out of the cargo hold and coming up empty-handed, Jason had had no choice but to sit tight as the obvious terrorist act unfolded. Upon first being locked away on the plane, Jason had hoped that Scott, Alejandra, and the others had managed to subdue all the insurgents by preventing the cargo plane from taking off. He’d hoped to arrive in New York to a group of confused government officials wondering what the hell he was thinking. But the shouts and gunshots and abrupt movements had made it clear that Yuri Novikov had been telling the truth and that the hunch had paid off.

  Jason held on as the plane jerked suddenly. The descent felt strange to him: too rapid and their speed too slow, like the plane was barely staying in the air. Jason braced for an expected landing, but when the landing gear didn’t activate, his heart pounded violently.

  The plane slowed even more, then the throttles went in reverse. Jason prepared for a rough landing, pinning himself against the bulkhead as the jet slipped out of the sky, splashing down into a body of water. The plane jolted and shook violently, the frame groaning and fighting to hold together. Luggage jostled free, rattling across the deck, and the whines of the engines were deafening as the pilot fought to slow the craft.

  After what felt like an eternity, the chaos subsided, and the jet slowed to a stop.

  Jason caught his breath as a still quiet took over. He heard voices, shuffling feet overhead, then the sound of a side door hinging open. He kept hidden from view of the cargo hold door, expecting it to open at any second, but it didn’t. The voices and footsteps soon vanished, replaced by a new sound.

  Flowing water.

  It was faint at first, just a distant rushing, then Jason saw water trickling down from the corners of the overhead. The main cabin was flooding. Throwing stealth to the wind, Jason sprang across the hold and tried to shove the overhead hatch free. With the aircraft lurching and the flowing water growing in intensity with every passing second, he reared back and pounded the hatch with his heel, trying desperately to break it loose. When the hatch wouldn’t budge, he scanned the area for anything heavy he could use. Climbing over luggage, he grabbed a metal hand truck that had been secured to the forward bulkhead, and he splashed through the water that was already pooling at his feet.

  In the few seconds it took to make it back to the hatch, the water had sloshed above Jason’s knees and was rising at a dangerous pace. Gripping the heavy object, he smashed it against the hatch again and again. After the fourth strike, he felt some give for the first time and watched as water seeped down around the corners of the metal plate.

  Water continued to fill the hold
at an alarming rate and soon rushed up past his waist, nearing his shoulders.

  “Come on, come on!” he shouted, rearing back and battering the hatch.

  He yelled out wildly, gritted his teeth, and gave it everything he had. Finally, as the water crept up to his chin, he crashed the hand truck through, knocking the hatch off its hinges. But relief only lasted for a fraction of a second. The moment the entryway opened, a surge of water washed over him, and the force of the spout knocked him back and threw him into a daze.

  Fighting to remain calm, he grabbed the edges of the hatch opening and muscled his body through the flowing water. Wrapping an arm around the opening, he leveraged his body up, then rolled along the submerged deck. With the cabin nearly full, he crawled through the flowing chaos and rose, catching his breath using the foot of open air still present at the overhead.

  Lights shorted, sparked, and went out, shrouding the compartment in darkness as he forced himself along the water. It was fresh and clear, so he dropped down and opened his eyes, swimming down the aisle. Ahead was a distant blur of light glowing brighter as he pushed along, then it vanished in an instant as the craft was swallowed up.

  Jason kicked and pulled at the water, then clawed at the tops of the seats as he neared the opening, seeing nothing but deep blue beyond. With a series of strokes, he swam out of the plane and looked up at the distant bright surface.

  In a final push of extreme exertion, and with the sinking aircraft trying desperately to pull him with it, Jason scissor-kicked twice, then broke free, exhaling violently and sucking in a series of rapid breaths. The air was warm and bright—a shocking shift from the fifty degrees when he’d boarded the plane.

  A rich blue sky loomed overhead, and a blinking sun burned low in the western sky, with no clouds obstructing its rays. Jason focused along the surface of what he quickly realized was a lake. To his right, steep mountains coated in green foliage jutted toward the sky, and to his left, the lake continued along, stretching far into the distance before narrowing at a bridge.