Ballistic Force(96)

Akira Tokaido had made a point to be the last man aboard, giving him a moment, however brief, to exchange a personal greeting with Bolan.

“Welcome aboard, ‘Ranger,’” Bolan joked, nudging Tokaido’s shoulder as he closed the cabin door.

“Hey, no flak, Jack,” Tokaido teased back. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve stepped out of the office.”

“I hear you,” Bolan said, “and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

Tokaido pointed out a hastily patched section of cabin wall where bullet holes had been plugged and sealed to insure proper in-flight pressurization. “Souvenir from the rescue effort?”

Bolan nodded. “Better the plane’s hide than mine.”

They were interrupted as the pilot called through the open doorway leading to the cockpit.

“All aboard?”

“All aboard,” Bolan confirmed. “Let’s get the show on the road.”





CHAPTER FIFTY


Kijongdong, North Korea

Park Yo-Wi was a nervous wreck.

It’d been less than forty minutes since the contractor had spoken with Myn Bong-Chul, but to him it seemed like hours. He was exhausted but at the same time so wired with fear that he refused to lay down, much less try to sleep. For the first time in his life he wanted to get his hands on a gun, but he was too afraid to leave his office quarters in the mobile home, so instead he paced back and forth in the cramped confines, clutching a metal drafting ruler so tightly that his fingers ached even more than his knotted stomach.

In his other hand, Park held his cell phone, and rarely had a minute passed without him glancing down at it, yet again making certain it was turned on. He’d given up any hope of hearing from his uncle, but surely Myn would be calling any second, if not to inform him that he wasn’t a marked man, after all, then at least to offer some kind of advice for what he should do other than to walk in circles like a lamb trapped in a feeding cage.

When he saw the phone’s battery indicator drop a notch, Park’s heart sank accordingly. Then, just as abruptly, his pulse jack-rabbited.

Someone was knocking at the door to mobile home.

Park stopped his pacing and stared at the door. He opened his mouth to ask who it was but his throat was so constricted he was unable to speak. Quietly he retreated to the doorway leading to his bedroom. Maybe if he pretended he was asleep…

“Park Yo-Wi?”

Hearing his name, Park unwittingly regained his voice, letting out an involuntary gasp that, at least to him, seemed as loud as a scream.

There was another knock on the door.

“I need to speak to you. It concerns General Oh. He is your uncle, correct?”

Park didn’t recognize the other man’s voice, and every fiber of his being told him not to respond, but, like a moth drawn to a flame, at the mention of his uncle’s name, the contractor found himself moving toward the door, knees trembling. He was about to unlatch the lock when he finally came to his senses and backed away as if he’d just received an electric shock.

“It’s urgent,” the man on the other side of the door insisted. “There’s been an accident, and the general is in surgery. He needs blood, and if you’re a relative there’s a good chance you’re a match.”

Park was stunned. His mind raced. An accident? His uncle was alive? It couldn’t be! But what if it was? What if his uncle really needed blood?

Park slowly reached for the dead bolt again. “What happened?” he asked through the closed door.

“He was riding back to Kaesong when something punctured the front tires on his jeep. He went off the road and there was a crash. Look, there’s not much time.”

Park wrestled with the news, trying to recall the phone conversation with his uncle. Maybe he hadn’t heard gunshots, after all. Maybe it had been the sound of the tires blowing out. And if the jeep had veered off the road, that would explain why his uncle had stopped talking. But wait! If there was a crash, Park found himself wondering, wouldn’t he have heard it? Maybe he’d confused the crash for more gunfire. He thought back but couldn’t remember for sure. Think harder, damn it! he told himself.

But it was no use. Private Euikon had concocted the perfect cover story, and Park finally ignored his better judgment and unlatched the dead bolt.

Park was turning the doorknob when the door itself suddenly opened inward with so much force that he was knocked backward into his drafting table.

Euikon Gryg-Il charged into the mobile home, pulling the same .22 Ruger he’d used to kill General Oh. He tried to kick the door shut behind him, but the latch failed to catch and it sprang back open.

When the private turned to close the door, Park saw his opportunity. A surge of adrenaline suppressed his fear and the next thing he knew he’d leaped forward, lashing out with the drafting ruler still clutched in his right hand. The thin metal edge struck his adversary’s forearm with enough force to hit bone, and the private screamed, dropping his gun. Park saw the weapon fall to the floor but made no effort to grab for it. His total focus was on getting away, and he barreled past his would-be assassin toward the doorway.