Ballistic Force(85)
HONG SUNG-NAM SMOKED a cigarette and stared through the window portal of the passenger cabin at the refueling crew and maintenance workers milling around the plane. There seemed to be more men than necessary for the task, but he didn’t dwell on the matter. His mind was elsewhere. He was already planning how best to capitalize on the success of his mission. He knew that in the wake of the purges following the Operation Guillotine affair there were ample opportunities for upward mobility within the ranks. In particular, there were openings within a coveted upper echelon of REDI, which was comprised of solo agents, and given Hong’s distaste with what seemed to be an ever-deteriorating caliber of subordinates, he felt it would be worth lobbying for the right to work alone. And though he’d never been keen on the idea of an office position, if the right offer presented itself, he might even consider leaving the field. After all, he wasn’t getting any younger. One couldn’t do this kind of work forever.
Hong was brought out of his reverie when the pilot emerged from the cockpit and asked Bryn Ban-Ho to move away from the cabin door so that he could open it.
“Why?” Hong’s colleague asked the pilot. “I thought we were staying put.”
“We are,” the pilot said, “but they’re bringing our meal provisions. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
As the pilot opened the door, Hong put out his cigarette and joined Bryn in staring out at the mobile staircase that was being wheeled into position in front of the open doorway. Two men wearing bright-colored safety vests were standing on the staircase landing, flanking either side of a metal tray stacked with foam containers. Something about the whole arrangement struck Hong as odd, and coming on the heels of seeing the overstaffed ground crew, he felt a sudden apprehension.
“Why does it take two men to push a food cart?” he wondered out loud. Before Bryn or the pilot could respond, a slight wind picked up out on the runway and Hong saw one of the caterers’ vests flap open in the breeze, revealing a shoulder holster.
“It’s a trap!” Hong shouted, reaching for his gun.
Bryn was instantly on his guard, as well, and just as one of the Army officers masquerading as a caterer prepared to fling a stun grenade, the REDI operative grabbed hold of the startled pilot and shoved him out through the opening. The mobile staircase was within a few feet of the plane, and the pilot, arms flailing, deflected the grenade before crashing headlong into the second caterer and inadvertently knocking over the serving cart. Both men toppled down the stairs in a tangled heap. The grenade, meanwhile, detonated on the tarmac, disorienting a handful of the ground troops. The soldier remaining on the staircase grabbed for his gun, but before he could pull it from his holster, Hong put a slug through his heart, then hastily swung the cabin door closed.
Amid all the commotion, Li-Roo Kohb ducked low in his passenger seat and shouted for Shinn Kam-Song and his wife to do the same. The three captives cowered as their guard rushed past them, hoping to escape through the rear door leading to the cargo hold. Before he could open the door, however, it suddenly burst inward and he found himself being tackled to the floor by Mack Bolan.
Once Bolan had brought the man down, he finished him off with a point-blank burst from his Colt, then rolled off the body and took cover behind the second row of passenger seats. Bahn had charged into the fray right behind him, and when she saw Hong and Bryn both aiming at her from the front of the cabin, she fired a quick shot and dived to her left, grimacing as one of Hong’s rounds pounded into her shoulder. “Just my luck,” she groaned.
Major Cross fell back and remained in the cargo hold for a moment, using the door frame for cover. He waited out a volley of gunshots from the two REDI agents, then crouched low and came through the doorway returning fire. He caught Bryn with a head shot but missed Hong.
Hong, suddenly the lone survivor, dived to the floor. He knew his position was hopeless, but he had no intention of surrendering. All that was left for him was the vague consolation that before dying he might at least thwart the enemy’s rescue of the hostages. Face to the floorboards, he peered beneath the seats, hoping to empty his magazine into the three captives hiding in the rear of the plane.
It wasn’t to be, however.
Lying on the floor between Hong and his intended target was Mack Bolan, and the Executioner had already beaten his enemy counterpart to the draw.
“Checkmate,” Bolan whispered as he pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Changchon Rehabilitation Center, North Korea
Before he met with the undercover agent from the Ministry of Intelligence, there was one matter Yulim wanted to attend to. He still had the phone number Lim Seung-Whan had used to make the initial ransom call following their meeting the night before. Using a scrambler-equipped cell phone, the commandant sat behind the desk in his bungalow and dialed the number. As he waited for an answer, he stared at the guards, who were in the process of dismantling the television he’d ruined earlier. He told them, “Once you’re finished, I need a word with you.”