The Stony Man weaponsmith had just talked with Mack Bolan and learned of the skirmish with REDI agents in Las Vegas. Bolan had said it looked as though one of the Koreans had managed to get away, and it was assumed that he would be headed back to the same safehouse where nuclear team defector Li-Roo Kohb was being held. The FBI had been scouring the Laughlin area all night for the safehouse but had thus far come up empty-handed. Kissinger figured Cho Il-Tok knew the location and, one way or another, he was determined to get the Korean to cough up the information.
Kissinger was standing bedside when Cho finally awoke in his room at the Laughlin urgent care facility on Chambers Road. FBI Agent Randall Howland was there with him but had agreed to let Kissinger be point man in the interrogation.
“Where am I?” were the first words out of Cho’s mouth. He struggled to sit up, straining the IV line hooked up to his right forearm. Kissinger leaned forward on his crutches and started to unfasten the ties securing Cho to the bed.
“Let’s pretend you died and went to hell.”
Cho looked away from Kissinger, glowering. He noticed his taped ribs and began to recall his failed escape attempt on the Colorado River. He assumed he was in some kind of police custody. As part of his training with REDI, he’d learned early on how to deal with such a situation.
“I want a lawyer,” he declared.
Kissinger turned to Agent Howland. “He wants a lawyer,” he said.
“No lawyers in hell,” Howland said with a faint smirk, playing along.
“You’re out of luck,” Kissinger told Cho. “You got us. That’s it. Of course, everything’s negotiable. Help us out and maybe we’ll see what we can do.”
“I have my rights,” Cho said, sticking to his own game plan. “I want a lawyer.”
Kissinger finished untying Cho’s binds, then moved back, shifting his full weight onto his crutches.
“You guys have a safehouse somewhere around here,” he asked casually. “Where is it?”
Cho didn’t respond. He was still groggy, but the sedatives he’d been given upon his arrival at the facility were quickly wearing off. So were the painkillers. The dull throbbing in his side was growing more intense by the second. Cho sized up his situation. As weak as he was, he still thought he could overcome the two other men if he could lure them off guard. While he waited for the right opportunity, he decided his best course was to stonewall.
A third time he said, “I want a lawyer.”
Kissinger looked at Howland. “I’ll give him points for persistence.”
Howland shrugged. “Maybe so, but he’s still not going to get a lawyer unless he cooperates.”
“Wait, wait,” Kissinger suddenly said, peering under the bed Cho was lying on. “I think maybe I see a lawyer down here.”
Cho frowned at first, wondering what Kissinger was talking about. But when Cowboy leaned over to look under the bed, the Korean dismissed his concerns. Here was his chance, he thought. He braced himself, waiting for the American to bend completely, making himself more vulnerable to attack.
Kissinger had no intention of playing into Cho’s hands, however. He’d crouched only to give himself more leverage so that when he suddenly grabbed the edge of the bed he was able to tilt it with enough force to send the Korean tumbling to the floor. The IV needle ripped free of his arm as Cho landed hard on his cracked ribs. He let out an anguished cry that quickly gave way to a torrent of expletives.
Cho was about to scramble to his feet when Kissinger pretended to lose his balance on his crutches. In one motion he kneed the Korean sharply, knocking him back to the floor. In the next, he let one of his crutches fall out from under his arm. When it landed on Cho, Kissinger sagged to his knees and put his full weight down on the crutch, effectively pinning Cho to the cold tile floor.
Agent Howland quickly chipped in, shoving the bed aside and kneeling close to Cho, grabbing hold of his free leg and pressing it to the floor.
“Oops,” Kissinger said. “Sorry, I’m having a little trouble getting used to these darn crutches.”
Cho tried to move but his interrogators had him completely immobilized and the more he struggled, the more it felt as if his cracked ribs were about to splinter into his lungs.
“Let me go!” he protested. “This is illegal!”
Kissinger shifted the crutch he was leaning on and the rubber tip caught Cho squarely across the bridge of his nose. Cho cried out again. Blood began to trail from his nostrils.
“There I go again,” Kissinger sighed. “I had no idea these things were so darn tricky to get the hang of.”
Cho cursed at his tormentors.