The ploy backfired, however, when he misjudged the lay of the land in front of him and came upon a sudden dip in the slope. His leg gave out beneath him and he pitched forward, landing hard on his shoulder and tumbling across the hard-packed soil.
By the time he’d come to a stop, the wind had been knocked out of him. He lay still on the ground a moment, dazed, then quickly came to and glanced upward. A few hundred yards behind him, the Apache helicopter had just cleared a rise and was slowly headed his way, sweeping the terrain below with its searchlight.
Hong looked around and realized he’d come to a rest at the edge of a dropoff. Twenty feet downhill was a natural culvert that had been lined with concrete, creating a runoff channel to divert floodwaters away from the housing development as well as a nearby two-lane road that wound through the foothills. The road was fifty yards away, and parked off on the shoulder Hong saw two cars, one a late-model Toyota, the other a police cruiser. The police officer had gotten out of his vehicle and was helping the driver of the other car change a flat tire. Their backs were turned to Hong and apparently neither of them had heard him. It was a small consolation, however, because with the chopper fast approaching, Hong knew he couldn’t afford to stay put. He had to find some kind of cover before the searchlight swept across the culvert.
Grimacing, Hong inched forward and began to crawl down the steep incline leading to the runoff channel, which was cluttered with loose brush and other debris washed down from the hills during rainstorms earlier in the month. If he could reach the debris undetected, Hong figured he might have a chance.
Halfway down the slope, Hong accidentally dislodged a fist-size rock. He grabbed for it, but it tumbled clear of his grasp and clattered down into the channel along with a handful of loose gravel. Hong froze, then threw caution to the wind and scrambled the rest of the way down. He quickly burrowed his way into the debris, wincing as a tree branch jabbed sharply into his ribs. He ignored the pain as well as the throbbing of his ankle and forced himself to lie still.
He was lying flat on his stomach and could no longer see the road, so he had no idea whether anyone had heard him. All he could do was stay put. Fortunately, through all the commotion he’d managed to keep hold of the stolen pistol he’d used to kill Yokota. He held the gun close and listened intently. It was difficult to hear anything, however, above his labored breathing and the pulsing of blood past his temples.
A seeming eternity passed before Hong could make out the chopper, and in the same instant that he heard it, the searchlight swept its way across the culvert. The beam lingered on the clot of debris the Korean was hiding beneath, and Hong couldn’t be certain, but he thought the sound of the rotors was growing louder, which would mean that the chopper was closing in for a better look. He fought the urge to bolt from cover and remained still.
Finally the searchlight panned away, leaving Hong in darkness. The Korean slowly backed out from under the debris, rose to his knees and stared out at the road.
The chopper was hovering a few feet above the asphalt, and the police officer pressed his cap to his head as he ducked below the rotor wash and approached the pilot. Hong could hear shouting but couldn’t make out what was being said.
Moments later, the officer retreated from the chopper and it rose into the air and banked sharply, then drifted away from the road, continuing its search of the surrounding hills. Hong remained in the channel, gun in hand.
Out on the road, the police officer exchanged a few words with the driver of the other car, then got back into his cruiser and flashed his roof lights as he sped off. Hong saw his chance and went with it. He rose to his feet and furtively made his way up out of the drainage ditch, then headed toward the road.
Up ahead, the driver of the disabled car finished lowering the front end to the shoulder, then retrieved the jack and carried it, along with the flat tire, to the rear of the Toyota. The man wore a Stetson hat and a denim shirt over jeans and a pair of cowboy boots. He’d opened the trunk and was tossing the tire inside when he suddenly stopped and whirled.
Hong was halfway across the road when the man spotted him. A look of fear came over him as he saw Hong’s gun. He was about to cry out when Hong fired. One shot missed but another plowed into the cowboy’s shoulder and a third caught him squarely in the neck. The jack clanged at the man’s feet as he keeled backward off the rear quarter panel of the Toyota, then slumped to the ground. He was dead by the time Hong got to him.
The Korean checked the road to make sure they were alone, then reached over and dragged the dead man to the rear of the car and, with considerable difficulty, hoisted him up and dumped him into the trunk. He was fishing through the man’s pockets for his keys when he saw the headlights of an approaching car.