Ballistic Force(98)

“Damn!” Park cursed as he sped on. The nearest military installation was less than two miles away, on the other side of the valley. It seemed unlikely that there would be other conspirators lying in wait for him there. If he could just make it to the site, Park figured he’d be safe.

Much as the trees helped to provide concealment, they worked against Park, as well, screening the moonlight enough that soon he had no choice but to turn his lights back on. His pursuer was apparently having the same problem, because moments later Park spotted the motorcycle’s telltale headlight. Euikon was back on his track and once again closing in. Worse yet, Park was now in the heart of the forest, and the trees flanking both sides of the road were spaced too closely together to offer an alternative escape route. Park raced on, fearful now that he would be overtaken before he reached the installation.

Then, after the road had led him through a series of winding terms, Park was suddenly forced to put on the brakes.

“No!” he exclaimed in despair.

Up ahead, rail tracks bisected the road and the contractor’s way was blocked by a slow-moving southbound train. One after another, a procession of boxcars inched past, offering only fleeting glimpses of the roadway beyond and the way to safety.

“Faster!” Park screamed frantically, knuckles whitening as he clutched the steering wheel. But the train showed no signs of picking up speed. If anything, it seemed to be slowing even more.

“No, no, no, no,” Park murmured, heart racing.

For the first time since fleeing the launch compound, he felt a burning sensation in his thigh and became aware of the blood soaking through his pants where he’d been shot. There was no time to dwell on the wound, however. Glancing over his shoulder, Park saw the light of the approaching motorcycle. Any second his assassin would be in view and he’d find himself trapped, boxed in by the train, as easy a target as a fish in a barrel.

Park shifted into neutral and frantically searched the jeep for a gun or some other weapon. Nothing. Soon he could hear the motorcycle’s whine over the clattering of the boxcars. Panicked, the contractor abandoned the jeep and stood trembling on the road. His first instinct was to flee into the forest, but he realized the biker would have little trouble weaving through the trees and hunting him down. That left only one other option.

Once the motorcycle negotiated the final turn and came into view, Park bolted away from the jeep and made his way toward the tracks. He eyed the crawling boxcars and when he saw one with an available handhold, he broke into a trot, running parallel to the tracks. At the last possible second, he lunged forward and grabbed hold of the rung, pulling himself up and swinging his right foot forward, seeking out the boxcar’s rear platform. Once he had a footing, he shifted his weight and reached around, gripping a vertical bracket mounted to the backside of the boxcar.

Park had just managed to place his other foot on the platform when Euikon fired, drilling a bullet into his side. It felt as if he’d been struck with a sledgehammer, and it was all he could do to keep from toppling into the gap between the two boxcars and being crushed beneath the steel wheels. A second shot clanged off the metal siding above his head before the train carried him beyond range of the Ruger. The damage had already been done, however. It had been Park’s plan to reach the far side of the train, then drop back to the ground and run the rest of the way to the military installation. But the bullet in his side had burrowed deep, piercing his right lung and nicking an artery. Park felt his strength drain out of him. Seconds later, he crumpled to the landing, unconscious.





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE


Changchon Mountain Range, North Korea

The Young-333 cargo plane carrying the two Army Ranger teams had just crossed the DMZ into North Korean airspace when the pilot received an urgent communiqué from Camp Bonifas. He promptly switched on his intercom and informed his passengers that Colonel Michaels had just taken a look at the first infrared feeds coming from the NSA satellites monitoring the area they were headed for.

“Apparently there’s a small convoy heading through the mountains toward your drop zone,” he reported. “Looks like two military jeeps and a missile transporter.”

Back in the passenger cabin, the head of the Bonifas Ranger team, Major Walt Stevens glanced at Bolan. “That could be a problem,” he said. “Especially if they show up just as we’re ready to make our move.”

Bolan nodded. “Maybe we should hit the convoy first.”

“How about if we do both?” Major Cook of the Zane Island Rangers suggested. “It shouldn’t take all of us to handle the convoy. We can drop one team on them and let the others stick to the game plan.”