Kill Chain (28 page)

Aboard
Marine One
Over
Seoul, Republic of Korea

Small
arms fire ricocheted off the armored plating, North Korean troops inexplicably
inside the city already. There was no way they had made it the 35 miles from
the DMZ to the city in just minutes, and there were no reports of paratroopers.

This was a fifth column,
already here.

A missile streaked toward
them from the ground.

“Hang on!” shouted Wings,
Red grabbing a handhold and reaching out to push Starling back into his seat,
the man leaning out of it to see what was happening below. The WhiteHawk banked
hard to port as chaff and flares deployed, the frame rattling with the
rapid-fire dispersal. Red could see the third chopper behind them already dipped
forward, pushing hard toward the missile and he felt his chest tighten as he
witnessed the greatest sacrifice a soldier could make.

To give one’s life to
save another.

The chopper erupted in a
fireball as the missile struck, the fuel igniting. Their airframe shook with
the shockwave, it unnoticed as everyone sat in silence, their final escort
chopper dropping from the sky, almost in slow motion, as if time were nearly
standing still.

He tore his eyes away in
time to catch Starling wipe a tear from his cheek.

“They died performing
their sworn duty.”

Starling frowned at him.
“No one man is worth what just happened.”

Red shook his head. “They
didn’t die for you, Mr. President. They died for what you represent. Their job
is to defend the United States from all enemies, foreign and domestic. To
protect our Constitution and our very way of life. The President of the United
States represents all those ideals. Don’t diminish their sacrifice by thinking
it was a waste. That insults their memory.”

Starling nodded slowly,
still not happy about what he had witnessed, though perhaps better
understanding
why
it had happened. It was one thing to order soldiers to
their possible death; it was another to actually witness it happen.

And to see it done
without hesitation, that pilot already pushing toward the path of the missile
before Red had even turned to look, was humbling.

There had never been any
doubt in the pilot’s mind as to what he was going to do.

He was going to save his
President.

And die in the process.

No chaff had deployed, no
flares.

The second chopper had to
be the heat source, or the missile might still acquire Marine One.

Red closed his eyes for a
moment, saying a silent prayer.

The entire chopper shook
from a blast wave, Red’s eyes jerking open.

“Aww shit! Hang on!”

Wings pulled up hard,
trying to kill their forward momentum, Red only getting a glimpse of a massive
explosion ahead of them, shrapnel blasted into the air from the ground below.
The undercarriage rattled as debris peppered them, alarms suddenly sounding in
the cockpit.

“Fuel line’s cut!”
shouted Wings. “We’re going down! Everyone brace for impact!”

Red reached forward,
yanking Starling’s belts tight then checked his gear as Wings radioed in their
situation.

“This is Marine One.
Mayday, mayday, mayday. We are going down. Deploy rescue teams immediately to
our current position. We have hostiles on the ground. Repeat, this is Marine
One. Mayday, mayday, mayday.”

Red looked at the two
Marines assigned to the chopper. “Everyone get ready. As soon as we come to a
stop, open the doors, pop smoke, then secure the immediate area. We’ll get the
President out. Watch for hostiles and look for cover away from the chopper.
We’ll commandeer vehicles and head south. We can’t wait for rescue teams. Copy
that?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Here we go!” shouted
Wings from the cockpit as he continued to struggle to control their descent,
his autorotation attempts only bleeding off some of their speed. “Hang on!
Impact in three, two—”

The chopper slammed into
the ground a moment earlier than his prediction, cutting him off. Metal
screeched and twisted, the sound of the still rapidly spinning rotors slicing
into the pavement was like something out of a horror movie as they tilted to
their side. The chopper continued to slide forward before abruptly jerking to a
halt, finally tipping over, coming to rest on something that left them at a 45-degree
angle.

Wings immediately killed
the power, taking command of the situation, this still his chopper. “Everyone
out, now!”

Red unstrapped himself,
leaning over and freeing the President, one foot resting on the side of the
aircraft, the bullet resistant glass still holding. The two Marines yanked open
the door on the opposite side, tossing smoke grenades through the opening, the
distinctive pop and hiss accompanied by the sound of small arms fire in the
distance and screams of panic from civilians. The massive bombardment continued
unabated, the thunder of air power heading to the front still filling the skies
as Red pulled himself through the hole, perching on what was once the floor of
the WhiteHawk as he quickly surveyed the area, the Marines pushing out from the
chopper, their weapons at the ready.

Local law enforcement continued
to direct panicked civilians into shelters, mostly the extensive subway system
under the city, it reminiscent of movies he had seen about London during the
Blitz. Vehicles were abandoned everywhere, the streets gridlocked.

“There’s no way we’re
getting out of here by vehicle.”

“Let me help you, Mr.
President.”

Red turned to see Wings pull
Starling toward the open door. Red reached out and took the President’s hand,
pulling him up beside him before dropping to the ground, Wings taking over his
perch. Starling dangled over the edge, Red reaching up and grabbing him under
the armpits as Wings lowered the man to the ground. Wings took one last look
inside before jumping down.

Red pointed to an
alleyway nearby. “Good cover there! Let’s go! Now!”

They rushed forward, the
team of four surrounding the President as they picked their way through the
abandoned vehicles and debris from the massive explosion that had ultimately
taken them out. They reached the alleyway unscathed and Red activated his comm.

“Control, Zero-Two. We’re
on the ground, all intact. We are proceeding south on foot. Area is not secure,
repeat, area is not secure.”

“Copy that, Zero-Two.
Rescue crews from Osan are en route, ETA ten minutes.”

“Copy that, Zero-Two,
out.”

Gunfire erupted from
around the corner.

Too close.

“Okay, form up around the
President. We’re going to move quickly and with purpose, using the buildings as
cover. We’ll try to head as directly south as we can. Marines, you take point.
Only engage the enemy if it’s absolutely necessary. We don’t want to draw any
attention to us unless we have to.” He turned to Starling. “Mr. President, you
ready for a good jog?”

Starling smiled. “Lead
the way, Sergeant.”

“Two hostiles, nine
o’clock!” hissed Wings.

Red’s head spun and he
spotted two men in North Korean uniforms brandishing AKM assault rifles,
rushing toward them.

No avoiding them.

“Drop ’em.”

Wings raised his MP5,
squeezing off two rounds into the chest of the man on the left, Red doing the
same to the one on the right, both dropping, no other shots fired.

Red signaled the advance.
“Let’s move. They’ve probably got friends.”

Bangbae
Real Estate
Seoul,
Republic of Korea

“Glad to
see you’re okay!”

Jimmy waved at Dawson and
Atlas as he jumped out of an SUV driven by a South Korean officer. He jogged
over to them, a frown on his face. “Yeah, but I lost Niner.”

“He’s alive, so stop
worrying about it.”

Jimmy didn’t seem willing
to heed the advice. And Dawson didn’t blame him. One of their brothers was
missing amid the chaos, and though he doubted the hostage takers would kill him
just yet, he couldn’t be so sure about the North Korean artillery.

Though there was one
thing certain.

It wasn’t Jimmy’s fault.

Though there’d be no
convincing the proud warrior of that fact.

Niner and Jimmy were
tight. Best of friends, on and off duty. They regularly visited with each
other’s families, the Sung household in particular almost adopting Jimmy since
his parents lived in Seattle, not exactly close to Bragg.

Jimmy pointed at the
small office building in front of them. “Why are we here?”

Police were surrounding
the building, Dawson about to answer as a tremendous low rumble overtook them.
He turned to see a four-story office building across the street collapse in on
itself, it having taken at least one direct hit, a Korean flag still fluttering
from a tall pole, it obviously some sort of government installation.

Intentionally
targeted.

He listened for a moment
and was pretty sure the bombardment was easing slightly as the South Korean and
American response slowly eliminated the North Korean positions. His more
immediate concern was the apparent fifth column that North Korea had
pre-positioned within the city. They were wreaking havoc in obvious preparation
for a ground assault, and had his friends Red and Wings, not to mention the
President, trapped, the air rescue aborted after it took heavy gun and rocket
fire. A ground attempt was now underway.

If he and his team were
to defuse this situation before it was too late, they’d have to act fast, there
over six-hundred-thousand North Korean troops stationed along the border.

Dawson walked briskly
toward the South Korean in charge. “What are we waiting for?”

“Warrant. Should be here
any minute.”

“Screw that.” Dawson
marched up the wheelchair ramp and into the lobby of the small complex, the
windows blown out by the explosion across the street. Atlas, Spock, Jagger, and
Jimmy followed, weapons at the ready, though Dawson expected little to any
trouble.

This was a real estate
company.

And if he had to hazard a
guess as to the extent of their involvement, it would end at the rental of the
warehouse where they had found the G20 bus, and wherever the hostages were now.

No more.

But it might be all they
needed.

“Looks like nobody’s
home,” rumbled Atlas.

Dawson pointed at a
computer on what was probably the receptionist’s desk. “Get Langley hooked up.”

Jimmy immediately went to
work as a shell landed outside, a little too close for comfort, several ceiling
tiles shaking loose.

Someone cried out.

Inside.

Dawson and the others surged
forward, he silently indicating to Jimmy to continue his work. They pushed
through a set of intact glass doors, a large conference room to their right, on
the inside wall, there no exterior windows. The room was dark, though there was
enough ambient light to show at least several people huddled under a large
conference table made of a thick, strong wood.

Good thinking.

“We’re American Federal
Agents. Does anybody here speak English?”

Several shaky hands
emerged, but nothing else.

Dawson dropped to a knee,
pulling out his phone and bringing up the electronic transfer they had
received. He stuck the phone under the table. “You received this transfer from
somebody over a month ago. What was it for?”

He saw the phone passed
about, chatter in Korean leaving him to once again wish Niner were here.

The phone reemerged.

“We rented them two
properties. Warehouses.”

“Where?”

“I-I don’t know. I’d have
to look at the files.”

“Then let’s go.”

“No.”

Dawson tapped the
carpeted floor with his MP5. “Let me make one thing clear. You
are
coming out. Don’t make it the hard way.”

More Korean chatter then
someone emerged, a young man Dawson was sure was barely twenty.

Low man on the totem
pole.

He darted through the
doors and down the hallway, Dawson and Atlas giving chase as he disappeared into
an office. The sound of a filing cabinet opening, muttered phrases that Dawson
was certain were curses, then a cry of victory. He reemerged, shoving a paper
into Dawson’s hand then disappearing back under the table.

Dawson glanced at it, all
the writing in Korean.

Atlas leaned over his
shoulder. “We really need Niner.”

Dawson snapped a photo
and sent it to Langley. “Control, Zero-One. Tell me what I’ve got here.”

“Stand by Zero-One.”
There was a pause before another voice with a slight accent began to talk.
“It’s two real estate transactions. Rentals.”

Dawson smiled at Atlas.
“With addresses?”

“Yes.”

“Send them to my phone,
Zero-One, out.” Dawson turned to leave though not before poking his head into
the conference room. “Thank you for your cooperation.”