Kill Chain

A Delta Force Unleashed Thriller

by

J. Robert Kennedy

From the Back Cover

“One of the best writers today.” (Johnny Olsen)

“A master storyteller.” (Betty Richard)

WILL A DESPERATE PRESIDENT RISK WAR TO SAVE HIS ONLY CHILD?

J. Robert Kennedy, author of the USA Today Bestseller The Templar’s Relic (#1 overall on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo), delivers another irresistible pulse-pounding, action-packed thriller with Kill Chain. If you love your stories filled with intrigue, suspense, a healthy dose of humor and a touch of romance, then prepare to lose sleep with this chilling torn from the headlines adventure the likes of which only Kennedy can deliver. With over 500,000 books in circulation and over 3000 Five-Star reviews, it’s time to join those who have compared him to Patterson, Clancy, Brown, Cussler and Rollins.

In Seoul, South Korea, the daughter of the President of the United States disappears aboard an automated bus carrying the spouses of the world’s most powerful nations, hacked by an unknown enemy with an unknown agenda. In order to save all that remains of his family, the widower president unleashes America’s elite Delta Force to save his daughter, yet the more they learn, the more the mystery deepens, witness upon witness declaring with certainty they never saw any kidnappers.

Only drones.

It’s a race against time to prevent all-out war between North and South Korea, and save the lives of the innocents aboard the bus, forcing the President to make decisions not in the best interest of his country and the world, but for the last remaining member of his family—his teenage daughter.

About J. Robert Kennedy

With over 500,000 books in circulation and over 3000 five-star reviews, USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure novelist based upon combined sales. He is the author of over twenty-five international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers. He lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.

"A master storyteller." — Betty Richard

"A writer who tells what we are thinking but sometimes afraid to say." — Bruce Ford

"Kennedy kicks ass in this genre." — David Mavity

"One of the best writers today." — Johnny Olsen

"If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy." — Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer

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Find out more at www.jrobertkennedy.com.

Books by J. Robert Kennedy

The James Acton Thrillers

The Protocol

Brass Monkey

Broken Dove

The Templar's Relic

Flags of Sin

The Arab Fall

The Circle of Eight

The Venice Code

Pompeii's Ghosts

Amazon Burning

The Riddle

Blood Relics

Sins of the Titanic

Saint Peter's Soldiers

The Thirteenth Legion

Raging Sun

The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

Rogue Operator

Containment Failure

Cold Warriors

Death to America

Black Widow

The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers

Payback

Infidels

The Lazarus Moment

Kill Chain

The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

Depraved Difference

Tick Tock

The Redeemer

Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

The Turned

Table of Contents

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Table of Contents

Beginning

Author's Note

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3

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Acknowledgements

Don't Miss Out!

Thank You!

About the Author

Also by the Author

For Serge Rivard, a good friend gone, but not forgotten.

Repose en paix, mon ami.

“We have wished, we ecofreaks, for a disaster or for a social change to come and bomb us into Stone Age, where we might live like Indians in our valley, with our localism, our appropriate technology, our gardens, our homemade religion—guilt-free at last!”

Stewart Brand, Whole Earth Catalogue

“If the U.S. imperialists threaten our sovereignty and survival...our troops will fire our nuclear-armed rockets at the White House and the Pentagon—the sources of all evil.”

Hwang Pyong-So, Director of the General Political Bureau, Democratic People's Republic of Korea

Department of Defense Definition of Kill Chain

A military concept related to the structure of an attack; consisting of target identification, force dispatch to target, decision and order to attack the target, and finally the destruction of the target. Conversely, the idea of “breaking” an opponent’s kill chain is a method of defense or preemptive action.

Author's Note

All of the technologies described in this novel exist today, and most are available to the general public.

1

Bonggyo Industrial Bakery

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“That’s strange, we weren’t expecting any deliveries today.”

Sujin signed the electronic pad, handing it back to the delivery driver.

“Someone must be,” he said, waving the device.

“But all deliveries go through me, and we’re not expecting anything through your company.”

The driver shrugged. “Well, they must not have told you because there’s no way you’d forget about something this big.”

Sujin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” She rose from her chair and leaned over the counter, noticing for the first time that he hadn’t come in carrying or pushing anything. “Where’s the package?”

The driver jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door. “Outside. My partner is unloading it now.”

As if on cue, there was a large thud, the entire room shaking. She rounded the reception desk and followed the driver to the door then gasped. “What is this?” Her eyes were wide with shock as she shoved through the door and rushed down the few steps to the parking lot. A massive shipping container now occupied at least a dozen spots, the truck that had delivered it idling in front.

“Have a good day!” The driver jogged over to the truck and climbed up into the cab, immediately putting it in gear.

“Wait! This can’t be for us! We’re a bakery!” The driver waved and began pulling away. She ran after him. “Stop! You’ve made a mistake!”

He kept going but his window rolled down. “You signed for it so it’s yours now. Talk to the name on the invoice.”

She came to a stop and bent over, hands on her knees as she gasped for breath, sampling the delicious baked goods they produced a too frequent habit. She turned her head, still struggling for air, and noticed some of the workers starting to empty out of the factory and stare at the container. She turned and walked back toward their unexpected delivery, staring at the massive chunk of metal now chewing up half their parking lot.

She shook her head.

It must be a mistake.

She growled.

And now I’m the one who has to fix it.

The factory floor supervisor walked over to her, hands on his hips, staring at the monstrosity. “What’s this?”

She threw her hands up. “No idea!”

He nodded toward her hand. “What’s it say?”

She stared at the forgotten shipping receipt gripped in her fist and her eyes narrowed, the owner’s name the recipient. “It says Mr. Yoo ordered it.”

“Huh. You better call him.”

“But he’s on vacation. He said not to disturb him unless we burnt the place down.”

The supervisor motioned toward the container. “I think he’ll want to know about this.”

She waved the paper. “According to this, he already does. He’s back on Monday. It can wait.”

“You mean you’re not going to open it?”

She stared at him for a moment then back at the container. “No, of course not.”

He motioned at the invoice. “But doesn’t it say it’s perishable? You can’t leave it for four days. It might need to be refrigerated.”

Sujin gripped her temples, massaging them as she squeezed her eyes shut. “I guess you’re right.”

The supervisor held out his hand and someone tossed him a crowbar used for opening their expected shipments. He and two of the other men tapped out the locking pin and swung the doors open as she joined them.

A buzzing sound started almost immediately.

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”

“Bees!”

The three men sprinted from the container as she backed away, she taught to remain calm around the insects.

But it wasn’t bees.

It didn’t sound right.

Something moved inside the dark container and her heart leaped. The humming sound was extremely loud now, as if thousands of massive winged creatures had awakened and were ready to erupt from their prison.

Something shot out toward her and she dropped to the ground, covering her head as the swarm emerged in a single mass, passing within inches of her shrinking form. She opened her eyes to see what was about to attack when she gasped.

Drones!

She slowly rose as hundreds if not thousands of serving tray-sized drones rushed past her then over their humble factory and out of sight, leaving everyone in stunned silence.

What just happened!

2

Noksapyeong Road

Seoul, Republic of Korea

This is sooo boring!

Nancy Starling leaned her head on the bus window, the gentle vibration comforting in this still strange new role thrust upon her over the past year. Her mother was dead, and her father still had a hard time letting her out of his sight, despite it a necessity most of the day. She had school, and he was busy being President of the United States. But now that she was old enough, and her mother was gone, she was his “plus one” whenever there was some affair of state that demanded his attendance.

Like this week.

A G20 conference in Seoul, South Korea.

She liked seeing the world, though now that she had a boyfriend—a secret boyfriend—she’d rather be at home where she could at least see him at school. Instead, she was stuck on the bus with a couple of dozen people, mostly spouses of other world leaders and their translators, while one of their South Korean hosts droned on about the sights they were seeing as their fully automated bus took them on a tour.

Her assistant, for lack of a better word, had been sent on ahead to finalize lunch arrangements with Nancy’s father, he sneaking out of the conference to spend some time with her. It meant she was unaccompanied at the moment, yet hardly alone. Though there were no American personnel on the bus, there were Korean security officers at the front, and there were two police vehicles escorting them with Secret Service agents in the back of both.

Her assistant, Jenn, had been disappointed to miss out on experiencing the automated vehicle, but those were the breaks when juggling the schedule of the most powerful man in the world so he could dine with his only child. Nancy had been disappointed as well, she actually liking Jenn, though it had given her an opportunity for some surreptitious texting that would have been otherwise impossible under the woman’s watchful eye.

A robot bus. That part’s cool.

Her boyfriend, Jeff, had definitely been excited about it. He was a bit of an über dork when it came to technology, he and his friends creating some sort of hacker collective recently, inspired by Anonymous. They were harmless, she was sure, otherwise the Secret Service that seemed to vet every part of her life would have had him transferred to another school. But it did make him a bit of a rebel, someone with a slightly shady side that she found oddly compelling.

And keeping the relationship secret from her dad made the whole thing even more exciting.

Though she did hate lying to him.

It’s not lying if you don’t say anything.

And she didn’t tell him anything about Jeff. He was the one thing in her life that she felt was her own. At school, the kids now seemed used to who she was, and pretty much treated her like everyone else, except for the fact she was never invited anywhere. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been to a birthday party, the security screening necessary just so much of a hassle for everyone else, that after the first time, no other family had been willing to go through it.

She closed her eyes, gripping her phone, waiting for it to vibrate with another message from the only person she could talk to on the entire planet. She used to tell her dad everything, though after her mom died, that had all stopped. He had his own problems. He had the world’s problems. He wasn’t over her mother’s death, and with his job, he had never really been given the time to mourn in private. Their family’s grief had played out for the world to see, the state funeral after the events in Mozambique large, emotional and completely impersonal.

When they had gone home, to the privacy of the West Wing, they had cried in each other’s arms for what felt like hours.

Then barely spoke of it again.

I miss you, Mom!

Her memories of that time flooded back and she felt her body tense. The plane crash, the gunmen, her mother’s suffering.

And the cute Asian Delta Force guy.

Niner!

She felt her stomach flip for a moment.

Sooo cute!

She smiled.

And funny!

He and the others had saved their lives that day, but no one could have saved her mother. She realized that now, though there was still plenty of blame she could toss around. Her mother died because of what happened in the air, not on the ground.

She opened her eyes and stared out the window.

Mom would have loved this.

Her mother had been fascinated by all things Asian, loving the trips to China and Japan, South Korea on her “bucket list”, whatever that was. Jeff said it was a list of the things you wanted to do before you died. It sounded morbid to her, though maybe when you were old like her parents, those types of things were considered normal. She wondered what else was on her mother’s bucket list that she had never had the chance to complete. She wished there actually was a list, a real list, written down somewhere, that she could try to complete for her. She believed in Heaven, that her mother was watching over her, that someday she’d see her again, and if she could see and do the things her mother had wanted to do, then that would mean her mother was also experiencing those things.

She sighed and stared at the front of the bus. A tastefully dressed Korean woman was standing there, describing in English what they were passing, several translators quietly doing their jobs, most of the dignitaries already speaking English fluently.

The only men on the bus were two Korean security personnel seated at the front, and the German Chancellor’s husband, a man her mother probably would have described as “charming”, though she wasn’t entirely clear on what that word actually meant. When she thought of someone as “charming”, she thought of someone who was trying to get in your pants.

Ewww!

She glanced over at him, listening attentively to the tour, he not requiring a translator, his English flawless with an interesting accent.

He is nice.

He had been particularly excited about the driverless aspect of their bus, it a prototype showing off the Korean’s technical prowess. He seemed as excited as Jeff had been when he found out. Apparently, the vehicle was bristling with sensors and computers that could react to any type of situation. Her dad’s security people had been hesitant about letting her on board, it only allowed when they promised to keep the bus under thirty.

Security wasn’t the issue, but no-driver-safety was.

Something caught her attention and she glanced out the window, her eyes widening slightly.

Is that a drone?

She watched as it slowly passed her seat at window height, it not occurring to her at first how dangerous that could be.

It could hit another car!

She frowned, slightly angered at the irresponsibility of whoever was flying it.

There ought to be a law!

She smiled.

I sound like Mom!

Another drone passed her window and she felt her chest tighten.

Okay, something weird is going on.

She glanced toward the security guards at the front, debating on whether she should mention something, her father’s voice echoing in her head.

No matter how trivial, if you see something, you tell your guards.

“Oh my God, something’s happening!”

She looked at the Canadian Prime Minister’s wife who had leaped from her seat, pointing ahead. Nancy stood to get a better view but was blocked by the Chinese translator. She leaned out into the aisle and gasped as she saw one of the police cars accompanying them slam into a fuel truck, a massive fireball erupting, thick black and orange smoke rushing in all directions before sucking back in on itself, the raging flames reaching toward the sky as traffic veered ahead of them and brakes screeched.

And the bus continued forward, no one at the controls.

“How do you stop this thing?” shouted someone, who she didn’t know, the sight of the second police car that had been following them distracting her as it raced by.

And slammed into the already raging fire.

Oh my God!

Everyone was out of their seats, panic setting in as the security guards got on their radios. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

And it was only going to get worse, the bus guiding itself through the chaos, no human to tell it to stop.

Her phone vibrated in her hand and she glanced down to see a grinning picture of Jeff. She quickly typed a reply.

Something’s wrong. Help us!

3

COEX Convention & Exhibition Center

Seoul, Republic of Korea

This is sooo boring.

Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson stood against the wall of the large meeting room, the center occupied by an oval table with nineteen seats hosting the leaders of the G20, nations representing the most powerful economies in the world—Russia boycotting due to continued economic sanctions. To his right stood the muscled Sergeant Leon “Atlas” James, two other members of his elite Bravo Team, part of America’s secretive Delta Force—officially 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta—were outside the room, keeping an eye on things from a different vantage point.

They were supplemental security, President Starling personally requesting Dawson, a bond of trust formed in the jungles of Mozambique after the downing of Air Force One by terrorists. Dawson’s biggest regret of that mission was the loss of the First Lady. Many had died that day, it a miracle any of them had survived, today’s sedate mission something he would never trade for the more exciting horrors of last year.

The nation had all died a little, the news of the entire family’s death, followed by the startling revelation there were survivors of the crash, had kept the world on the edge of their seats.

Then word of the First Lady succumbing to her wounds tore away part of the nation’s soul, the country coming to a standstill during her funeral, as for the first time in modern history, a President grieved while the nation watched, a brave teenage girl trying to be strong for her father as the weight of the world’s problems continued to demand his attentions.

No one should have to go through such a tragedy publicly.

Time had marched on, the events pushed to the back of his mind and that of the nation, but whenever he saw Starling, there was a silent acknowledgment of that day, though no words ever said.

It’s too painful.

He had wondered why the President continued to request his unit for these assignments; it had to be a constant reminder of what had happened. If he wanted Delta, there were hundreds of other operators that could do the job, but his Commanding Officer, Colonel Clancy, had pointed out something to him that he hadn’t realized.

“Every time he takes his daughter out of the country, he requests your team.”

A father protecting his daughter with a team he could trust.

It made sense.

He and the others were playing second fiddle as usual to the Secret Service. He had no problem with that—he was a soldier, used to following orders. He wasn’t here for the glory—none of them were. They were here to serve their country, and today his country needed him here, back to a wall in a completely secure conference room, in a stable, safe country—the only real danger beyond Islamic terrorism, the barking mad dictator 35 miles to the north.

But North Korea wouldn’t dare do anything to harm the leaders of the free world—and their only real ally, China.

This was a quiet, routine assignment that allowed him to daydream a bit, and panic slightly over the wedding plans that his fiancée continued to make.

“Code Red, I repeat, Code Red!”

He sensed all the security surrounding the room become tense, even those not on his frequency. “EasterEgg and the other spouses are missing, possible kidnapping. The leaders are about to be notified. Evac Plan Charlie is a go.”

Shit!

He glanced at Atlas as the doors at opposite ends opened, nineteen aides streaming in, the meeting halting almost immediately as those seated around the table sensed something was seriously wrong. He watched the White House staffer whisper into Starling’s ear, the knuckles turning white on the hand gripping a gold pen, the color in his ears draining.

The South Korean President leaped to her feet. “I assume you have all just been informed of what has happened. This meeting is adjourned.”

Starling rose from his chair, any emotion from a moment ago wiped from his face except for the eyes.

It’s hard to control the eyes.

Starling pointed at Dawson.

“You’re with me.”

4

Sung Household

Suwon-si, Republic of Korea

“I’ve been to a lot of Korean restaurants, but my God, this is waaay better.”

Sergeant Carl “Niner” Sung looked at Sergeant Jerry “Jimmy Olsen” Hudson, his friend’s plate empty. He stabbed the air with his stainless steel chopsticks. “Did you even chew?”

Jimmy shrugged. “I find it interferes with the ingestion process. I use more of a duck method.” He tilted his head back and imitated the feathered fowl’s preferred eating method, a giggle and covered mouth elicited from Niner’s teenage cousin, Ji-yeon.

“Growing boy, must eat more!” Niner grinned at his grandmother as she quickly began filling Jimmy’s plate with another helping. He had to admit he was impressed that his friend hadn’t turned his nose up at anything, no matter how unusual or unfamiliar it was.

Jimmy had been broken in, though, with visits to the Sung household in Florida over the years. Niner’s family had immigrated to the United States before he was born, settling in Florida, his father an accountant who had fallen on hard times during the Great Recession, as had many Americans. They were slowly rebuilding, but it would be a long, hard haul, none of which he was allowed to tell the family here about.

As far as the Sung relations in South Korea knew, everything was hunky-dory with the American branch of the family.

Fortunately, the family here were simply too excited to see their relative, most for the first time, to bother asking detailed questions about what was going on back home, especially since he only had about two hours to visit. Dawson had Atlas, Jagger and Spock with him for this shift in the protection detail, he and Jimmy on Red’s team, currently enjoying some downtime.

Two hours would be more than enough to do his duty to his family, introduce his friend to what real Korean food tasted like—not the Americanized bastardizations—and keep Ji-yeon from falling too deeply in love with the handsome Jimmy.

“Here, Jimmy, have some more beef.”

Jimmy held out his plate as Ji-yeon piled more food on. “Thanks!”

She blushed, beaming a smile at him before quickly looking away when he returned it. Niner gave his friend a look, Jimmy shrugging his shoulders with a “not my fault if she finds me hot” grin.

Jimmy sat back and patted his stomach. “I thought you always said your family was starving here?”

Those who understood English erupted in protest, Niner taking a flurry of offended responses in his native Korean. Jimmy smiled and tucked back into his plate, letting the firestorm he had created continue.

“I was just joking,” replied Niner, holding up his hands. “He knows that.” He leaned toward his friend and hissed, “Tell them you know that!”

Jimmy covered his still full mouth. “Know what?” He winked at Ji-yeon, earning another giggle.

“That you knew I was joking. I think they’re really offended.”

“How do I know they didn’t just put on a big spread to impress me?”

Niner’s eyes widened as his friend dug the hole deeper. “What the hell are you doing?” he whispered in Arabic, a language no one else at the table understood.

“Paying you back for all the damned ‘my family’s starving in Korea’ jokes.”

“Dude! You’re about to create an international incident!”

Jimmy swallowed another mouthful of rice. “Of your creation.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. No more starving family jokes.”

“Bullshit.”

Niner closed his eyes for a moment, nodding. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Jimmy held up his hands slightly, the table quieting. “I was just joking. Carl has never said you were starving. I was just trying to have a little fun at his expense.”

Translations were made then the room erupted in laughter, more food piled on Jimmy’s plate, Ji-yeon coyly eying the now even more interesting foreigner.

Jimmy fished his phone from his pocket, frowning at the call display.

Niner’s eyes narrowed. “Who is it?”

“BD. I better take this.” He turned to their hostess. “Excuse me for a moment.” He left the table, Niner shoveling as much food into his face as he could, there little doubt their brunch, for lack of a better word, was about to be cut short.

Jimmy returned, concern on his face.

“What is it?”

The room went silent.

“Somebody just kidnapped the G20 spouses.”

Niner’s eyes went wide and he looked at his young cousin, his thoughts turning to Starling’s daughter who had developed a bit of a crush on him in the jungles of Mozambique.

“The President’s daughter?”

“Missing.”

5

Maggie Harris Residence

Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

Maggie Harris flipped through Brides Magazine for the umpteenth time, Shirley Belme on the opposite end of the couch, feet curled up under her, doing the same. Shirley was already married to Dawson’s best friend, Red, the product of their love, Bryson, playing with his Lego in front of the television, CNN on in the background.

Monitoring the news every time the love of her life would go on deployment had become a habit with Maggie. She had been off for a few days; some follow-up medical appointments scheduled in a cluster to examine how her head wound garnered in Paris was healing. Her fiancé had been extremely upset he couldn’t go with her to the appointments, but duty called, and she understood that.

After all, it wasn’t every woman who was engaged to a Delta Force operator.

And knew about it.

She was in the extremely fortunate position of working as the Personal Assistant to Colonel Clancy, Dawson’s Commanding Officer, which had her privy to many of her fiancé’s top-secret destinations, though she was forbidden to talk about it. This time, however, due to being out of the office, she had no idea where he had gone.

And it was fine by her.

If she knew, then she’d just worry about what she saw on the news, he rarely going somewhere safe, it seemed.

But it didn’t mean she wouldn’t remain tuned in, just in case. When shit happened, it meant Dawson and his Bravo Team were either already in the thick of it, or on their way there.

It was a difficult life, yet she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

She loved that man, more than she had loved anyone, more than she thought she could love anyone.

Shirley held out her hand. “You know, when I first got engaged to Mike, my sister laughed at my engagement ring. She said any man who couldn’t afford at least two karats wasn’t worth marrying.”

Maggie’s eyes widened in horror. “Are you kidding me?” She held out her own modest ring, a ring she absolutely adored. “I hope you kicked her ass.”

“No, I’m not going to break a nail on her account. I just poured my bottle of beer over her head and dumped her coleslaw in her lap then told her to go give her ex-husband a call and ask him how much he paid for her ring.”

“Well, at least you remained calm.”

Shirley burst into a fit of giggles, Maggie joining in, Bryson glancing up for a moment, laughing with them, hopefully not knowing why.

Maggie held out her finger. “I don’t think mine’s even a karat, let alone two, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’d be too darned worried about losing it! And besides, our men don’t make that much money, so these little things are a big sacrifice to them. All I care about is that I know he agonized over it, torturing himself for days and weeks, then finally took the plunge and put himself out there, knowing I could have said ‘no’.”

“I think he’d have rather faced ISIS alone.”

Maggie laughed. “Probably.” She flashed back to his proposal and closed her eyes, a smile spreading on her face. “I—”

“Daddy!”

Maggie’s eyes shot open and she stared at the screen, Bryson on his feet, pointing at it. A shot of the President and his daughter descending the steps of Air Force One cut away to a talking head.

“What was that, honey?”

“I saw Daddy on TV!”

Maggie grabbed the remote and hit the back button a few times then smiled, spotting Dawson and several others from the team standing at the bottom of the stairs behind dark sunglasses, their faces expressionless, their suits impeccable with slight bulges where their Glocks rested. The shot cut away to the star of the show, President Starling waving to a gathered throng. “Well, I guess we know where they are.” She smiled at Shirley. “And we know they’re going to be safe.”

Shirley agreed. “Now I can sleep tonight. Nothing’s going to happen to them in South Korea.”

6

South of the Crash Scene

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Nancy’s eyes were wide, her breaths coming in sporadic gasps as she kept holding it then suddenly remembering to breathe. The passengers were in a panic, the automated bus continuing through the streets of Seoul, no one in control other than the computer. One of the security agents was on his radio, shouting in Korean, apparently ineffectively, as his partner was smashing on the front door, equally so.

The Italian Prime Minister’s wife suddenly occupied the seat beside her. She took Nancy’s hand and squeezed it. “Are you okay, dear?”

Nancy shook out a nod, her entire trembling body betraying the lie.

She yelped as a voice came over the speaker.

“Greetings to our honored guests. First, we would like the members of your security detail to please cease any efforts to open the doors. Any attempt to do so will result in the explosives attached to the undercarriage detonating. We would hate to see you all die so uselessly.”

Nancy watched in horror as the agent at the door continued his efforts.

“For the love of God, listen to him!” screamed someone, the Korean tour guide firing off a flurry of curt words at the man who abruptly stopped.

“Thank you. Might we suggest that next time, you make certain your security detail understands English? It just might save your lives.”

The guard glared at the speaker.

Oh, he speaks English.

“Interesting, just too stupid to listen, then.”

Nancy searched for a camera, it clear they were being watched, but found none.

“You will find that none of your phones will be able to get a signal. We are jamming everything except our own.”

Nancy glanced at her phone and noticed the No Signal indicator, an immediate sense of claustrophobia setting in as she realized how isolated from her support network she suddenly was.

“Please sit back and enjoy the ride. We will be reaching our destination shortly.”

There was a pause as Nancy peered out the window, wondering where that destination might be, the city continuing to pass, the traffic around them, the pedestrians on the street, ignorant of their plight.

“And remember, you are being watched. Constantly.”

Two drones whipped past her window. She looked behind and noticed two more. A quick glance over to the other side of the bus showed several others.

We’re surrounded!

“We’re going to be okay.”

Nancy glanced at the Italian woman who was trying to comfort her, the woman’s terror obvious, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed, her grip tight.

Then she started to hum a song.

Seriously?

7

COEX Convention & Exhibition Center

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Status?”

Dawson climbed into the rear of the armored limousine, Atlas slamming the door shut and getting into the front, the motorcade accelerating hard the moment the last foot cleared the cement of the conference center’s underground parking. A large contingent of motorcycle police and squad cars immediately met them as the emergency evacuation of nineteen world leaders unfolded, he having no doubt the officers on the ground had rehearsed this scenario, fully expecting it never to happen.

And yet it was.

“We’re finding that out now, Mr. President,” said Dawson as he grabbed a handhold, the driver operating under orders not to worry about comfort, speed of the essence.

“Are we going back to the hotel?”

“Negative. Protocol dictates the embassy in this situation. If they’ve managed to take your daughter and the others, we have to assume all security precautions have been compromised. The embassy is the only place we can be certain is secure since all security inside is our responsibility.”

“What do we know?”

Atlas turned from the passenger seat, just having received an update. “Not much yet, Mr. President. The security vehicles accompanying the bus were apparently hit by a fuel truck, and the bus continued on. The GPS tracker has been disabled, and the security team on board isn’t responding.”

“Do we know where the bus is?”

Dawson could hear the panic creeping into the voice of the most powerful man in the world. And he didn’t blame him. He had never liked the idea of a driverless bus ferrying so many VIPs around, yet his concerns had been overridden by the White House staff’s unwillingness to offend their South Korean hosts.

He just hoped those poor souls didn’t pay the price for political correctness.

He exchanged a glance with Atlas.

“Not yet, sir. Emergency vehicles are responding and aerial units are deploying. We’ll find them, Mr. President.”

Starling looked at Dawson. “I can’t lose my daughter too.” His voice was subdued, it almost cracking.

Dawson nodded. “I’m not going to make you any promises, Mr. President, except that if you give us free rein, we’ll do whatever it takes to get her back.”

Starling’s jaw squared as he drew in a breath, staring at Dawson.

“Consider yourselves unleashed.”

8

En route to the Embassy

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Niner’s fingernails dug deeper into the dash as Ji-yeon weaved in and out of traffic, he beginning to question whether her Kia Morning had a brake pedal installed.

And the harrowing experience was made all the worse by her penchant for staring at Jimmy in the rearview mirror.

“Eyes on the road!”

“Calm down, I know what I’m doing!”

“I’ve been trained for this and I don’t even know what you’re doing!”

“They teach soldiers how to drive like this?”

“Some of them.”

“What is it you do?”

Niner ignored the question, his job Top Secret, his cover an honorable logistics clerk. The less his family and loved ones knew about his real life, the safer they all were. If his enemies were to know his true identity, they could kidnap his family and try to use them as leverage to get what they wanted.

That was why only spouses knew.

And he definitely didn’t have one of those.

Someday.

With Dawson and Atlas starting to settle down, some of the other guys already having done so long ago, the thought had occurred to him, but he was having too much fun being single.

You’re only young once.

Besides, he hadn’t met anyone he’d exactly consider marriage material.

Including yourself!

His phone vibrated and he swiped his thumb over the display, recognizing Dawson’s number. “One-One.”

“It’s me. Status?”

“We’re heading into the city now.”

“ETA?”

“With the way my cousin’s driving, we’re either never going to make it, or we’re going to break the space-time continuum and arrive there before it happens. You?”

“We’re about to arrive at the embassy. Once the President is secure, we’ll head to the crash site. I’ve sent coordinates to your phone. Meet us there.”

“Roger that.”

Dawson ended the call and Niner opened the message, bringing up the map. He held it on the dash so Ji-yeon could see the display. “Can you get us to Noksapyeong Road?”

Ji-yeon glanced at the display a little too long for Niner’s liking, then nodded. “Sure.” She suddenly locked up the brakes then spun the wheel hard, pulling a 180 before hammering on the gas again, driving the wrong way for almost a hundred feet before jumping a curb and forcing her way into the flow, a cloud of dust and scorched pavement in her wake.

Niner heard someone screaming and glanced back at Jimmy.

“You can stop screaming now.”

Niner looked at Ji-yeon and realized the scream was coming from him. He jabbed a finger at her. “Next time, I drive.”

“You’d get lost.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t need to change my shorts.”

9

Embassy of the United States Seoul

32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

Dawson checked the hallway in either direction before closing the doors of the embassy’s command center. It was nothing compared to the Operations Centers at the Unit or Langley, though it was respectable nonetheless, what with their proximity to one of the world’s few rogue nations with nuclear weapons. Embassy staff manned every terminal, all, he was certain, highly trained in their jobs.

“Mr. President, I’m happy to see you’re safe.”

Dawson surveyed the displays as his second in command and best friend, Master Sergeant Mike “Red” Belme, greeted their VIP.

“Any word on my daughter—and the others?”

“Sir, this is what we know.” Red turned and pointed at a large display showing aerial footage of the crash scene. A fuel truck was fully involved, the two security vehicles that had been escorting the automated bus barely recognizable. Fire crews were steadily dousing the flames, a heavy police presence evident as the roads were blocked, the crime scene taped off. “Both the leading and trailing escorts were involved in a multi-vehicle accident with this fuel truck.”

“That’s not the bus?”

“No, sir.”

Starling gasped a sigh of relief, Dawson realizing for the first time that a terrified father’s mind could have easily imagined a passenger bus instead of the flaming fuel truck. Starling searched for a chair, an aide immediately pushing one toward him. He dropped into it, his shoulders sagging for a moment. He stared up at Red. “Then wh-where is it? Where’s the bus?”

“There’s no sign of the bus.”

Starling opened his mouth but Red continued.

“For the moment, we’re treating that as good news. At this point in time, we have no reason to believe any harm has come to your daughter.”

“But you don’t know where they are?”

“Not yet, sir. We’re patching in with Langley now, and air and ground assets are deploying from Osan Air Base to assist in the search.” Red paused, lowering his voice slightly, the man himself a father. “Sir, this is a wired, modern city. They’ll have been caught on camera. We’ll find them, track them, and retrieve your daughter.”

“Has anyone made any demands yet?”

“No.”

Dawson squatted so he could look his President in the eyes, man-to-man. The fear and panic were evident, and he needed this man, the leader of the free world, thinking straight. “Mr. President, no word from whoever is responsible could be a good thing. They won’t make their demands until they’ve secured the hostages. The fact we haven’t heard anything means they haven’t done so yet. That means there’s still time to find them.”

Starling nodded, his breathing slowing slightly as he squared his shoulders. He rose, glancing about the room for a moment before turning to Dawson and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Find my daughter and bring her back to me.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Do whatever it takes. I’ll clean up any mess you make.”

Dawson allowed a slight smile.

“Understood.”

10

2941 Restaurant

Falls Church, Virginia

“How the hell did you do that?”

Chris Leroux glanced down at his lap, a carefully painted toe briefly visible before disappearing into his pants. He dropped his napkin in his lap, nervously looking around at the customers and staff of the rather upscale restaurant, before turning his attention to his girlfriend sitting across from him in the booth.

“Do what?” asked Sherrie White coyly, a Cheshire grin on full display.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice, though not before stealing another look to see if their after dinner games had been noticed. “Work a zipper with your toes!”

“You like it.”

“Of course, I like it. I just don’t like the venue.”

“Why?” Sherrie stopped moving her foot and regarded the view from their corner booth. “It’s quite nice here. Good food, good service, nice ambiance.” Leroux gave her a look. She smiled. “Great table, tucked away where no one can see us.”

Suddenly her special request for this booth when she made the reservations made sense.

She’s so bad!

And he loved it.

If there were one word to describe him, it wouldn’t be bad. He was a nerd, geek, dork—whatever word the kids were calling it these days. Extremely bright, sometimes awkward, especially around women, he was not in Sherrie’s league—at least that’s what he had been telling himself since they met.

On the job.

He was CIA, an analyst at the time, now an Analyst Supervisor, she a junior agent sent in to seduce him, to see if he would spill his secrets. He had barely passed the test, his experience with women to that point nearly non-existent beyond websites Utah was trying to ban.

Sherrie had changed all that.

They had fallen in love, moved in together, and he was a better man for it.

And that was the key word.

Man.

He had always felt like a shy boy until her, and now he led a team of ten at CIA Headquarters and had an incredibly beautiful and sexy CIA Agent with whom to share his life.

His eyes widened.

“Waiter.”

“Well, maybe he can see us.”

“No, I mean waiter!”

Her foot darted from his crotch.

“Anything for dessert?”

Sherrie smiled at him. “I think I’ve got that covered.”

Leroux flushed. “Umm, no thanks, just the bill.”

“Very well, sir.”

The waiter walked away, Sherrie’s foot darting back into his lap.

“You’re terrible.”

“I know.”

“You realize I have to stand and walk out of this place.”

Her foot moved a little faster, a grin on her face.

“Please!” he hissed.

She stopped. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re too much fun. And why are you so damned frisky?”

“I’ve got an assignment tomorrow, you know that. I’m heading to Seoul for some preliminary security screening before the Secretary of State arrives for the G20 follow up.”

“Yeah, well save it for the bedroom.”

She leaned forward, running her foot up his leg. “Baby, you’re in for a jolly good rogering long before we make it to the bedroom.”

Leroux gulped. “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re taking advantage of those tinted windows when we get to the parking lot.”

Her foot dropped to the floor as the waiter appeared, placing the bill holder on the table. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Just a sec.” Leroux fumbled for his wallet, trying not to reveal his exposed nether regions, leaning forward awkwardly as he removed his credit card. The waiter handed him the machine and he pushed his Visa in the slot.

Sherrie tried to force her foot into his own slot and he shut her down, snapping his legs shut.

Her lips shot out in a pout.

Approved.

He removed his card and handed the machine back, a receipt printing at an interminable pace. A quick rip and it was handed over.

“You two have a lovely evening.”

“Oh, we will,” replied Sherrie, never taking her eyes off Leroux. The waiter walked away and Sherrie leaned in. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I could carry a dozen donuts with no hands.”

“A dozen! Impressive! That’s something we’re going to have to test.”

“You’re certifiable.”

“And you love it.”

Leroux shrugged, his head bobbing. “I do. I just never realized that you’d be the Dylan Kane in this relationship.”

“I guess spies like us can never get enough.”

Leroux grinned. “Funny movie.”

“Don’t get off topic.”

“Hon, if I don’t, we’re never leaving this booth.”

“Just cover it with your jacket.” She winked. “If you can, that is. A dozen donuts is a lot.”

Leroux blushed. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’ll need my foot back.”

He felt his ears burn as he opened his legs.

Her foot immediately darted up, her toes going to work, a distinct “zip” heard.

Unbelievable!

His phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at the call display and frowned. “It’s the office.”

“Ugh. Don’t they know I’m horny?”

“I think it’s a standing order at Langley.”

She kicked him. “Careful.”

He chuckled, swiping his thumb to take the call.

“Sir, we’re going to need you to come in right away.”

Sherrie’s foot resumed its adventures.

He could recognize the excitement in his underling Randy Child’s voice, though the younger analyst—by only a few years—had the habit of getting excited about most things that tweaked his interest.

He’s like you five years ago.

“What’s wrong?”

“The G20 spouses have been kidnapped.”

“What!” Leroux’s hand grabbed Sherrie’s foot, ending her teasing. She immediately sensed things were serious, removing her foot and sitting upright. “What about the First Daughter?”

“She’s missing too.”

“Christ, I’ll be right there.”

He ended the call, shoving the phone in his pocket.

“What’s going on?”

“The G20 spouses have been kidnapped including the President’s daughter.”

Sherrie’s phone vibrated and she grabbed it, a brief one-sided conversation ending after only a few seconds. She pocketed her phone. “Looks like I’m heading for Seoul early.” She grinned at him, her eyes widening suggestively. “But there’s still time to squeeze in a quickie in the parking lot.”

11

Noksapyeong Road

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Go home.”

“But what if you need a ride?”

Niner searched for Dawson and the others but came up empty. “My team will be here soon.”

“But I want to stay!” She already had her phone out, seeking her fifteen minutes.

“No, it’s too dangerous.”

“But—”

Niner gave his cousin a look and pointed at the road on which they had just come to a screeching halt. “Home. Now.”

Jimmy rounded the car, his phone out, documenting the scene. “Please, Ji-yeon, go home, it’s not safe. When this is all over, I promise he’ll come and visit you.”

Ji-yeon stared at Jimmy’s feet, one of her own doing a back and forth pirouette, straight out of a Betty Boop cartoon. “Will you come?”

Jimmy smiled. “Absolutely.”

She bounced. “Okay, see you soon!” She jumped in her car and peeled away with a wave and the attention of the police officers swarming the area.

Niner glared at his friend and pointed a finger at the man’s chin. “You lay a finger on my little cousin and I’ll chop your balls off.”

“Can I help it if she finds me irresistible?”

“She only likes you because she knows it will piss me off.”

“She never met you before today!”

“Think of her as my sister, and act accordingly.”

Jimmy placed a finger on his chin. “So no sex until the third date?”

Niner swung at him, a grinning Jimmy blocking it easily.

“What’s going on!” shouted one of the officers in Korean as several of them ran toward them, mistaking the joking around for the real thing.

Niner responded in Korean as they both showed their IDs. “We’re with the President of the United States’ security detail. What can you tell us?”

The lead officer took his ID and examined it for a moment before calling over to a group of senior officers, if Niner’s knowledge of South Korean insignia wasn’t failing him. A rather attractive woman quickly walked toward them, saying nothing, instead inspecting both IDs before returning them.

“I am Senior Inspector Yunhui Kim, NPA. I’ve been expecting you. I’m to be your liaison for the investigation.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Niner, extending a hand to the National Police Agency detective. “I’m Agent Green, this is Agent Brown. Do you speak English?”

She nodded as she quickly shook their hands, switching languages. “Yes.”

“What can you tell us?”

She motioned toward the now smoldering crash site, the fire out. “Not much yet. From what eyewitnesses are telling us, it appears that the first vehicle swerved into the fuel truck, then the second one passed the bus and did the same.”

Niner’s eyebrows popped. “Intentionally?”

Kim nodded. “That’s what the witnesses are describing, but they’re not always reliable.”

Jimmy’s head bobbed. “True. And the bus?”

She shook her head. “Apparently, it didn’t even slow down. The witnesses said it just kept going as if nothing had happened.”

Niner’s eyes widened as he exchanged a glance with Jimmy. “It was an automated bus. There’s supposed to be an override inside in case of an emergency.”

Kim shrugged slightly. “It clearly wasn’t used.”

“Or it didn’t work.” Niner placed his hands on his hips, surveying the area before frowning at Jimmy. “This was no accident.”

12

South of the Crash Scene

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Stop with the humming, already!

The incessant noise from Nancy’s seatmate had become louder, the lyrics to whatever tune she was nervously using to cope, occasionally escaping as the wide-eyed woman stared at her surroundings, her head turning as if on a swivel.

It was annoying the hell out of her and everyone within earshot.

“I-I think we’re here.”

Nancy stared ahead and saw a large door opening on the side of a rather boring looking building, some sort of warehouse, the plain white paint appearing fresh, the building modern, though there were no markings to indicate who owned it. They were in some sort of industrial area from what she could tell, there plenty of other buildings and large trucks within sight, though none near their apparent destination.

The bus didn’t slow, instead plunging deep into the darkness before coming to a rapid though controlled stop. The doors closed with a rattle behind them, the moment the sliver of light from the late morning sun was cut off, lights flickered on, illuminating their immediate vicinity, the rest of the warehouse inkwells of mystery.

She flinched as a burst of static erupted from the speaker, the same odd voice starting, it altered somehow—a robotic sounding human.

Or a human sounding robot?

She stared out the windows at the dozens of drones.

Robot uprising?

“We have arrived. I kindly ask the security detail to disarm.”

She pressed her face against the window, trying to spot someone, anyone, who might be behind this, but saw nothing except drones and a semi-trailer parked about fifty feet away, no driver evident.

“Put your weapons down, gentlemen. Now.”

The two security guards glanced at each other, clearly not happy about the instructions, though they had little choice. They pulled their weapons, raising them so that any cameras that might be watching could see them, then placed them on the floor.

The front doors hissed open, several of the passengers leaping to their feet with the urge to escape their prison.

They wisely held their places.

“Will the security detail please step outside with Herr Holst.”

The German Chancellor’s husband stood up partially, looking about, terror in his eyes. “Wh-why me?”

“Please comply, or we will detonate the explosive devices attached to the bus.”

Holst shuffled out of his seat, trembling, moving forward slowly, his hands gripping the headrests of each seat as he passed, the women occupying them reaching out to touch him, trying to give him comfort, and Nancy was certain, say goodbye, as she was sure they realized what was happening.

There were only three men on the bus.

And they were all about to step off.

“They’re going to kill them,” she whispered to her Italian seatmate, her humming finally stopped, replaced by a rapidly bouncing knee.

“No, no, dear, they’ll be okay. There’s nobody here to hurt them.”

The woman did have a point. There was no one here. Nancy stared outside again, there still nothing but the truck and the drones that had followed them after the crash.

Or are there more?

She honestly couldn’t say. Dozens were in evidence, more than she had noticed when they were driving, though, for all she knew, they could have all been flying above the bus, out of her line of sight.

“Please, gentlemen, we don’t have all day.”

The first guard stepped down to the ground, the entire bus letting out a collective sigh as nothing happened. Herr Holst followed as Nancy racked her brain for his first name.

You memorized this! Come on!

She had to remember, she had to know, she had to have his full name before what was about to happen actually happened.

She had to know who to pray for.

Hermann!

The second guard, the final man, stepped to the ground.

Gunfire erupted, a steady barrage that lasted only seconds, multiple weapons firing, leaving three bloodied bodies to crumple to the ground.

There was stunned silence.

Then someone screamed.

It was her.

A blur rushed toward the entrance. She wiped the tears away and recognized the Chinese translator, a young, plain looking woman, trying to escape.

Don’t do it!

And she didn’t. She grabbed the two discarded handguns and began firing at the drones, one after the other dropping to the ground. Hope began to swell in Nancy’s stomach as she realized this woman was no translator, the calm, determined look on her face the look of a soldier, not a civilian. Everyone pressed against the glass, those on the other side leaping to hers to get a view of their savior’s handiwork. At least half a dozen drones were on the ground now, more falling with each volley.

She’s going to do it!

Suddenly the remaining drones turned toward their hero as if realizing they were under attack, and a barrage of gunfire replied, coming from where, she couldn’t tell.

And the Chinese woman cried out, collapsing atop the body of Hermann Holst.

Unmoving.

The gunfire stopped, leaving nothing but the whimpers of those still alive.

With no one left to save them.

13

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Have a good evening, boss?”

Leroux tossed a casual wave at Randy Child, the euphoria of a forbidden quickie in the back of the car a few minutes ago still flooding him with schoolboy giddiness. “Yup.”

Child gave him a look, a grin spreading on his face as if he knew exactly what had happened. He raised a fist. “Hey! Hey!”

Leroux left the fist unbumped. “What have we got?”

Child became all business. “Just getting the feeds now. The Koreans are being extremely cooperative since they know they effed up.”

“Do we know that?”

Child shrugged. “Well, it was their job to provide the security and an entire busload of dignitaries is now missing, so yeah, I’d say they effed up.”

Leroux ignored the intelligence assessment from his underling. “Do we have footage of the accident?”

“Nope.”

“I thought you said they were cooperating?”

“They are but there’s nothing to see. The cameras were all dead at that intersection.”

Leroux’s eyebrows popped. “You’re kidding me!”

“Nope.”

“There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”

“Agreed,” said Leroux’s boss, National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison, as he entered the room. He held up a memory stick. “But we’ve got this.” He handed it to Leroux as he reached the center of the room.

“What’s this?”

“We had a U2 photographing the North Korean border area.”

Leroux smiled, handing it to Child. “Anything worth seeing?”

Morrison shook his head. “Don’t know yet. Every agency in the country just received the footage. The President has ordered no jurisdictional bullshit on this one. All hands on deck.”

“Good.” Leroux motioned toward the memory stick Child was loading. “If they’re photographing North Korea, what are they expecting us to find?”

“The recon guys like to keep back from the border just in case the North Koreans decide to get camera shy, so with Seoul so close to the border, DoD thinks there’s an outside chance something’s on it.”

Leroux’s head bobbed. The Lockheed U2’s Advanced Synthetic Aperture Radar System cameras were capable of photographing a massive chunk of territory with enough detail to read a license plate’s renewal sticker. If the timing was right, there just might be something to find.

“Got it,” said Child, the center of the large array of displays curving around the front of the room rapidly beginning to flash through high-altitude photographs.

“Synch the timecodes with when we know the accident happened.”

Child’s fingers flew. “Got it.”

“Now synch up the GPS coordinates for the crash site.”

More fingers and seconds later they were staring at an aerial shot of the city. A grid appeared, latitude and longitude displayed, the city streets quickly outlined as the computer and its expert operator synched up the detailed maps with the photograph. The entire overlay flashed green.

“Here we go,” murmured Child, zooming in on a segment near the lower edge of the image. “This is it. Timecode matches.”

Leroux stepped toward the screen. “Okay, let’s follow the shots, see if anything shows up.”

“Wait a minute.” Morrison pointed at a vehicle stopped on the side of the road. “That’s the fuel truck, isn’t it?”

Leroux stepped closer. “It’s a fuel truck. Hard to say if it’s the fuel truck.” He snapped his fingers. “Split screen with the accident scene.”

Sonya Tong, a young analyst with a desperate, inappropriate, and futile crush on her boss, complied, the display switching to show the unmolested fuel truck and the smoldering aftermath. “That has to be it.”

Leroux agreed. “Exact same location. Back up the shots. I want to see how long this truck was there.”

Child complied, geo-locked images appearing, the truck stationary until about five minutes before when it disappeared from the image.

Morrison glanced at Child. “Move forward, slowly, let’s see if we can spot a driver.”

The images flipped forward, the truck suddenly appearing then pulling over to the side. Child motioned at the screen. “Does he have his hazards on?”

Leroux watched, trying to catch a change in the dozens of lights on the vehicle then pointed, nodding. “Yes, yes he does.”

The driver’s door opened and a man stepped out, something pressed to his ear. “Cellphone?” suggested Morrison.

“Looks like it.”

The next image showed an extended arm, the next no cellphone. “It didn’t work?” Several more frames flashed by and the hood of the truck was opened, the driver leaning in. “Breakdown?”

Leroux pursed his lips. “It would appear so, but right there, right then, minutes before the bus was coming through, at the same time the cameras were shut down?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Then what?”

Leroux looked at his boss. “I don’t know.” He motioned toward the screen as the images flipped by, about one second apart. “The only way two cars hit a fuel truck is if it’s moving and hits them or gets in their way somehow. This truck has been sitting there the entire time, which means the escort vehicles hit the parked truck, just like the witnesses said.”

“The eyewitnesses said they drove straight into it. I just assumed that was the usual witness BS.”

“It looks like the witnesses might be right this time.” He held up a finger. “Here it is.”

The lead escort vehicle entered the frame followed by the bus, its G20 logo emblazoned on the top. Suddenly the lead vehicle raced ahead then swerved to the right, slamming into the fuel truck, a massive freeze-frame explosion rising toward them, the angled, aerial shots providing a unique perspective. Moments later the trailing escort vehicle shot past the bus and disappeared into the ball of fire and smoke, the bus continuing on, driving out of the frame.

“Follow that bus!” ordered Morrison, Child complying before it drove out of the last image. “Where’d it go?”

Child threw his hands toward the screen in frustration. “That’s as far south as the images go. We were lucky to get what we did.”

Morrison growled in frustration. “So what do we know?”

“We know that the eyewitnesses were right.”

“But it makes no sense!” Morrison scratched his forehead. “Suicide?”

Leroux shook his head. “Both vehicles? No way. And to what end?” He pointed at the screen, Child having returned the focus to the crash site. “And a broken down fuel truck just happened to be there?” Leroux drew a deep breath before making his proclamation. “This was staged, and that security detail, and that truck driver, had no idea what was going on.”

Morrison turned toward him, his eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

Leroux stepped out on the limb. “I’m saying that the fuel truck didn’t break down, it was shut down, and not by the driver, otherwise he would have fled the scene rather than wait around to be killed. I’m saying that when those escort vehicles crashed into the truck, they weren’t being driven by anyone behind the wheel.”

14

Noksapyeong Road

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“What have we got?”

Dawson stepped out of the SUV, an embassy staffer having driven them, she knowing the streets far better than any of his team. Niner and Jimmy stepped away from a conversation with several of the locals, joining him as he surveyed the scene.

“A mess is what we’ve got,” replied Niner. “Witnesses are saying they intentionally did that.”

Dawson grunted. “Yeah, Langley’s saying the same thing. They’ve got some images showing the fuel truck breaking down in that exact spot, then both vehicles slamming into it a few minutes later.”

“That’s whack. Why the hell would they do that? Suicide?”

Dawson shook his head. “Langley doesn’t think so, and neither do I. One driver, sure, but two? Uh-uh.”

“So then what’s the thinking of those oh so smarter than us?”

Dawson watched the firefighters give the all-clear, then motioned toward a cluster of Korean’s that appeared in charge. “Tell them we need the chips for the onboard computers from all the vehicles.”

Niner, their native Korean speaker, left as Sergeant Will “Spock” Lightman’s eyebrow popped. “What’s that going to tell us? Whose insurance is covering this?”

Dawson chuckled. “Nope. You’re not going to believe this, but Langley has a theory that the vehicles were hacked.”

It was Jimmy’s eyebrows’ turn—both of them. “Are you kidding me? Like that briefing last year?”

“Yup.”

“Shit! If they did, that’s some pretty advanced stuff.”

“Yeah, but we know we’re dealing with advanced hackers if they were able to commandeer the bus.”

Atlas frowned, shaking his head. “No driver. I can’t believe we agreed to that.”

Dawson watched Niner speak to the Koreans about the chips, orders shouted moments later. “We didn’t, but we were overruled. Nobody wanted to insult our hosts.”

Jimmy grunted. “It’s that type of PC bullshit that keeps getting the world in trouble.”

Dawson agreed. “We’ll solve the decline of Western civilization later. For now, we need to find that bus.”

Jimmy stared in the direction the witnesses said the bus had continued. “Any leads?”

“Nothing except that it continued south. Langley’s working on it. For now, let’s just make sure those chips are recovered and not tampered with.” Dawson looked at each of his team. “We trust no one. Not even our hosts.”

15

Unknown Location

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“You will now proceed off the bus, one at a time, as your name is called. You will proceed to the back of the truck you see to your right.”

Nancy Starling glanced at the truck, its rear gate lowering, still no one in sight. Her entire body was shaking, her right hand gripping her phone, her left squeezed by her Italian seatmate whose knee continued to bounce out of control.

“If you attempt to run, you will be shot. If you follow our instructions, you will live. Now, Miss Starling, please proceed.”

Nancy’s eyes shot wide open, another dose of fear induced adrenaline surging into her system. She tried to will her body to move, but she couldn’t. The blood pounded in her ears and her eyes began to focus on the speaker where the voice was coming from, the voice that seemed to be in complete control, everything else going black, the grill of the device consuming her entire world.

“Miss Starling, if you fail to comply, you will die, as will all the others. Proceed. Now!”

The Italian woman leaped to her feet. “Move! You have to move! They’ll kill us all!”

Nancy sat, frozen, staring at the speaker.

“Why aren’t you moving!” screamed the woman, her voice a distant echo, like a radio on in the background, listened to but not acknowledged.

Someone blocked her view of the speaker, grabbing the Italian by the shoulders and pushing her away. “For the love of God, shut up! She’s just a child!”

She felt a hand on her shoulder then another on her cheek, her face turned toward the new arrival, her eyes torn away from the speaker. “Can you hear me?”

She stared at the woman, the words not registering, it taking her a moment to recognize the British Prime Minister’s wife.

“Can you hear me?”

It was repeated, slightly louder this time, though with a compassion lacking from her Italian counterpart.

Nancy nodded.

“Good. Now can you stand up?”

She nodded, but didn’t.

“I need you to stand up.”

She stood, her knees shaking, her entire body trembling, her eyes turning toward the speaker.

A hand stopped her from turning her head, gently gripping her chin. “Look at me.”

She did.

“Good. Take a deep breath then march out that door and onto that truck. We’ll all be with you soon, okay?”

She nodded and closed her eyes. She turned toward the front, and with her eyes closed, used the headrests as her guides, realizing that she was leaving the sanctuary of the bus just as Herr Holst had.

And he’s dead.

She froze.

“It’s okay. You’re doing great.”

She breathed deeply.

What would Mom do?

She clenched her teeth.

She’d do what she was told while trying to figure a way out of this.

She squeezed her eyes tighter.

Be brave, my sweet one.

Her eyes burned with the memory of her mother’s voice.

She opened them and glared at the speaker. She glanced back to see the British Prime Minister’s wife standing behind her, smiling. “Go ahead. We’ll be with you shortly.”

Nancy nodded then stepped down to the ground, keeping her eyes on the truck, trying not to look at the bodies of those who had already fallen victim to whoever their captors were.

Her foot hit something and she glanced down to see one of the drones lying on the floor, one the brave Chinese woman had shot before dying. Her eyes irresistibly stole a glance at the bullet-ridden body of the only person to have put up a fight, her eyes still open, determination the final expression preserved by her death mask.

I want to be like her.

She stared at Herr Holst as she forced herself forward.

Such a nice man.

His face was turned away from her, thankfully, she hating to imagine what his final expression might be, he just a normal person like her, never supposed to have been put into a situation so terrifying, so deadly, never supposed to think of how your body might betray you in your final moments, an expression of fear, of terror, eternally preserved by those who would discover and document your undignified final pose after your death.

She stifled a sob.

Suddenly the buzzing sound of the drones grew louder, causing her finally to notice them. They were everywhere, except directly in front of her, and it took a moment to realize they had formed a corridor, perhaps five feet wide, directing her toward the truck, its ramp now down, beckoning her as if the open mouth of a horrifying beast meant to devour them all, body and spirit.

A drone bobbed toward her, urging her on, and it was then that she finally noticed something that had escaped her the entire time.

The barrel of a gun, pointed directly at her.

A handgun, lying on its side, mounted to the top of the drone.

That’s where the shots came from!

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at the drone mere inches from her face. She had heard of weaponized drones of course, though they were huge compared to these. These drones were small enough that she could probably reach out and grab it, throwing it down to the ground before giving it a good stomping.

She would if there weren’t dozens of his buddies hovering nearby.

These drones were small, like something her friends might fool around with. Hell, she even had one at Camp David that she would use to make videos of the property for fun, videos she could never share for security purposes.

No Facebook for her.

No social media whatsoever.

It sucked.

She understood the reasoning behind her father’s decision. In fact, it had been his and her mother’s before she died. And with her now an involuntary celebrity thanks to her dad’s career choice, she’d probably never be truly free, truly independent, for the rest of her life. Her father’s job had taken her mother’s life, and it had already taken hers, at least figuratively.

The life a normal teenage girl craved was dead to her, forever relegated to the dustbin of choices not available to the young children of world leaders.

She thought of Jeff, her one piece of rebellious behavior not yet detected by the security teams that constantly surrounded her, and how he’d probably think this entire situation was so cool from a tech perspective.

He had been the one who had figured out how to set up her phone so they could exchange text messages without anyone knowing.

He was smart.

Extremely smart.

Dad would probably like him if he’d ever give him a chance.

Jeff would understand what was going on here better than anyone. Hell, he’d probably have been able to figure out a way to regain control of the bus, or take out these drones.

I wish you were here!

She inched forward.

Then he’d be dead too.

All the men were dead. Would they have killed boys as well?

Probably. They had already threatened to kill her.

I wonder if he’ll remember me when I’m gone.

She frowned.

Probably not. That bitch Wendy will be all over him before I’m in the ground.

Jeff had arrived late in the school year—something she knew was tough. She had too. After the assassination of the last President, and her father’s swearing-in, she moved to a school closer to the White House, leaving all her friends behind. She had cried, screamed and fought, but it didn’t matter. The President’s kids went to this school.

End of discussion.

And with social media not at her disposal, she had lost touch with most of them.

Though as time passed, she made new friends, Jeff the highlight. When he had arrived several months ago, she had decided to be ambassadorial and welcome him into the group.

They were almost inseparable since.

At least inside the school walls.

He was a secret, there no contact outside of the school beyond their messaging, no chance of photographs by the Secret Service or the paparazzi, little sign of affection even among friends, just in case someone violated the school’s policy against cellphones.

They couldn’t risk it.

If her father found out, he’d have the Secret Service crawling up poor Jeff’s business like there was no tomorrow.

And if that didn’t scare him off, her dad would probably find some way to have him transferred, he ridiculously overprotective since her mother’s death.

She didn’t blame him.

She was all he had left.

He was all she had left.

She closed her eyes for a moment.

I miss you, Mom!

The drone got even closer, snapping her out of her reverie, her eyes wide now as she stared at the barrel six inches from her head. She stepped forward, eyeing the other drones, it now immediately obvious to her that they all had weapons attached to them.

How did I miss that?

The Chinese woman must have figured that out, which was why she was shooting the drones. It hadn’t occurred to Nancy that her actions hadn’t made much sense. Why shoot drones? Shoot the shooters who lay in the darkness.

Yet that hadn’t been what was going on at all, and their heroine had realized that. If she had been able to take out the drones, there would have been no one to shoot them.

But she had failed, there simply too many.

She moved forward, feeling slightly better for some reason, perhaps the thought that there was probably no one lurking in the shadows, waiting to reach out and grab her, providing a slight amount of comfort. Enough comfort that she covered the remaining distance quickly, climbing the ramp into the back of the truck.

“Please take a seat, Miss Starling.”

She flinched, stepping back before she realized it was another speaker, the electronically altered voice still creeping her out, though probably less than if a real, live human was standing in the darkness.

She blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting enough for her to see benches lining the long walls of the truck.

She sat and closed her eyes, wondering who she would choose if she were given the choice of one person to be with her here, now, in the middle of all this.

Would it be Jeff? Her father?

She smiled.

Niner.

She pictured the handsome Delta Force operator who had helped save her life in Mozambique, her heart fluttering slightly at the thought, her cheeks flushing.

If only he were here…

16

Embassy of the United States Seoul

32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Any progress?”

President Starling could tell by the Delta operator’s face that if there was news, there wasn’t any that was good.

“I wouldn’t characterize it as progress, sir, however we do have a theory.”

Starling leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed slightly as the operator, who he had heard called ‘Red’ in the jungles of Mozambique, continued.

“We’ve confirmed eyewitness accounts that suggest the escort vehicles drove intentionally into the fuel truck. Langley thinks they might have been hacked.”

Starling’s eyebrows shot up. “Hacked? Is that even possible?”

“Yes, sir. A lot of new cars today have Internet access built in, and if the firewalls aren’t properly configured, the car’s computers can be hijacked, and with pretty much everything drive-by-wire now, that means full control in some cases.”

Starling shook his head, remembering the briefing he had received after the nightly news demonstrated just such a hacking. “Insane. Remind me to pass a law when I get home.”

Red smiled slightly. “Yes, sir.”

“We had agents in those cars, didn’t we?”

Red nodded. “Yes, sir. Two, presumed dead.”

Starling sighed. “I’ll have to get their names when this is all over. I’ll want to meet with their families, personally.”

“Of course, sir.”

Starling glanced at the phone on the ambassador’s desk, it now his office for the time being. “Any demands yet?”

“Negative. We think they’re still securing the hostages.”

Starling closed his eyes, resting his head against the sumptuous leather, and sighed. “We’re not going to find her, are we?” He opened his eyes, Red stepping closer to the desk, lowering his voice slightly.

“I’ll be honest with you, sir. The longer we don’t, the harder it will get.” Starling’s chest tightened. “But harder doesn’t mean impossible. I’ve rescued guys out of the middle of the desert that had been missing for months. We just need to work the problem. You’ve got every security force in the modern world working on this. It’s not just your daughter that’s missing. The Brits, Germans, Canadians, Aussies—everyone is throwing everything they’ve got at this.”

Starling nodded slowly. “I know.” He sighed. “I know as President, I should be concerned with everyone, but I’ll be honest with you, Sergeant. All I can picture is my little girl and how terrified she must be.”

Red pursed his lips, his head bobbing. “I understand, sir. I have a young son. But I’ll tell you this. If this ever happened to him, I’d want the exact same people looking for him that are looking for your daughter.”

Starling smiled, realizing the man was right. The best people were on this, doing whatever it took to find her and bring her home safely. “I appreciate that, Sergeant.” His chin jutted toward the door. “I won’t hold you up any longer. Keep me posted.”

“Yes, sir.”

Red left the room and Starling rose, stepping over to the door and locking it, images of his wife, dying in his arms, her face replaced with his precious daughter’s, overwhelming him.

He dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together as tears flowed freely, his eyes staring at the heavens, his soul beseeching All Mighty God to save all he had left in the world.

17

Crawford Residence

Forest Hills, Washington, DC

What should I do?

Jeff Crawford stared at his phone, willing Nancy to respond, to no avail. It had been at least half an hour since her last text message had him bolt upright in bed, and he hadn’t budged since, repeatedly sending her messages.

Something’s wrong. Help us!

Something was definitely wrong, and he didn’t know what to do. She was the President’s daughter. Surely, she had security personnel that could help her, yet she had asked him for help.

What does that mean?

Were they dead? And if they were, what the hell was he supposed to do about it? Wouldn’t people who knew what to do already know? And even if they didn’t, who was he supposed to call? Her dad? The White House?

Hi, I’m Jeff, the President’s daughter’s secret boyfriend. Is she okay?

He launched Skype, calling his buddy, Ronnie.

“Yo, dude, whassup?”

“Not sure but I think something might have happened to Nancy.”

“Who, Nancy Starling?”

“Yeah. We were texting and now I can’t reach her.”

“So, isn’t she in like Korea or something? That’s like dark-age type shit over there, isn’t it? People eatin’ grass and shit?”

Jeff felt his chest tighten. “That’s North Korea, you idiot. Try reading something other than Kim and Khloé’s Twitter feeds.”

“Hey, when CNN starts featuring tits and ass, I’ll tune in.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“I am what I am.” Ronnie grinned. “So, why do you think something’s wrong?”

“It’s her last text.”

“What did it say?”

“It says, ‘something’s wrong, help us.’”

Ronnie was suddenly serious. “Jesus. Who’ve you told?”

“Nobody.”

“Who’s the idiot now! You’ve gotta tell someone!” His eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute.” Ronnie leaned out of frame then popped back. “Shit, have you seen the news?”

“No, I’ve been trying to reach her.”

“On your precious CNN—you get that?”

“I have parents.”

“Well, it says that some bus carrying the spouses of the G20—whatever that is—is missing, including Nancy.”

Jeff felt his stomach flip, his mouth watering. “Jesus, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“You’ve gotta tell someone.”

“But she told me we had to keep it a secret!”

“Ask your folks. They’ll know what to do.”

Jeff shook his head emphatically. “No way, you know how friggin’ puritan they are. They’ll just lecture me on the evils of premarital sex.”

“Holy shit! You’re having sex with the President’s daughter?”

Jeff’s eyes shot wide in horror as he replayed what he had just said, failing to find Ronnie’s interpretation. “I never said that!”

“You might as well have.”

“No, I just said that my folks would think I was.”

“Riiight. I think you’re doin’ her.”

“And you’re a pig.”

“Hey, I’m a guy, just like you. If I had a chance to bang her, I would. She’s hot!”

“Next time I see you I’m going to beat the living shit out of you.”

“Bullshit, the only thing you’re beating is your meat.”

Jeff’s cheeks flushed. “I’m done with this convo.” He reached forward to end the call.

“No, wait!”

He stopped. “What?”

“Does she have nice cans?”

He killed the connection, his face hot with rage.

You must really like her if he pissed you off that much.

He closed his eyes, picturing her perfect face, her perfect smile, her perfect hair, her perfect lips.

You love her.

And he had to save her.

He glanced at his still silent phone then at his bedroom door.

Should I tell them?

If he did, what could they do? All he had was a text message. She had the CIA and everyone else in the world searching for her. He stared at the altar to geekdom sitting in the corner of his room.

But they’re idiots!

He rolled out of his bed and dropped onto his stool, firing off half a dozen chat requests.

It’s time to get The Squad on it.

18

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“I might have something.”

Leroux turned toward Sonya Tong. “What?”

“Well, something disabled all the cameras at that intersection.”

“Right.”

“So I went and checked the other cameras.”

Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Were they all out?”

Tong shook her head. “No. Just everything leading up to the intersection from the north for about five minutes, then everything south of it along five different routes.”

Child spun in his chair. “Why not just block them all?”

“I’m guessing they wanted it to look like intermittent failures as opposed to a hack.”

Leroux agreed. “Are they still out?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe they haven’t finished. Get those routes to Delta. At least the South Koreans can start deploying resources in those areas.”

“Unless it’s a trick.”

Leroux looked at Child. “Go on.”

“They make us think that they’ve taken one of those routes, but in reality, they’ve taken a completely different one.”

Leroux shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He pointed at the displays at the front of the operations center. “Bring up an aerial view of the bus.” Child brought up the shot. “What do you see?”

Child smiled, his head bobbing as he leaned further back in his chair. “A massive G20 logo.” He tapped away at his keyboard, several more shots appearing from the promo package the Koreans had sent to everyone who was anyone, the bus proudly displayed, logos covering all sides. “That bus would stick out like a sore thumb. They’d spot it in a heartbeat if it passed one of their cameras.”

Tong motioned toward the screen. “That’s got to be easy to spot from the air.”

“Exactly,” agreed Leroux. “Which means wherever they are, they’re already out of sight.”

Child sat upright in his chair. “So we should start looking for buildings big enough to hold a bus along one of those routes?”

“It’s a start.”

“I’m on it.”

Leroux turned to Tong. “I want you coordinating this. Divvy up those routes and start finding me private CCTV feeds, anything that might have a view of the road. If we can get just a single shot of the bus on any of them, it narrows down the search dramatically.”

“Yes, sir.”

19

Unknown Location

Seoul, Republic of Korea

The truck bounced along, everyone riding in silence. Nancy didn’t know what they were thinking about, though she was certain some were obsessing like she was over those they had left behind.

The dead.

Part of her was focusing on the poor German man. At least there had been an introduction made and some friendly, polite banter exchanged, though it was rather one-sided, her responses monosyllabic, something she regretted deeply now.

But most of her focus was on the Chinese woman who she had never met, never paid any attention to, she merely a background fixture, someone to be ignored.

She had become good at ignoring people since her father had ascended to the presidency.

You had to.

There were just too many people rushing around, too many people simply standing in place, guarding them. If she were constantly acknowledging them all, she’d never get anything done.

Yet it had been one of the minions that had tried to save them.

Had died trying to save them.

And she vowed at that moment to say hello to everyone that worked for her father, every time she saw them.

It was the least she could do for someone who just might save her life one day.

She glanced at the speaker, it now visible, dim interior lighting turned on as soon as the truck had begun to move. She still couldn’t wrap her head around what was going on. They had yet to see a person, though there was definitely someone pulling the strings. The voice might sound robotic, like something Anonymous might put out, the language clipped as if a computer was reading a script as opposed to the voice merely altered as a person spoke.

Could it be a computer?

In school, they had debated Artificial Intelligence in Philosophy. Apparently Stephen Hawking—the wheelchair dude—and a bunch of other big names, had recently warned about the dangers of AI, and how a computer that became self-aware might quickly decide the human race shouldn’t exist.

She had thought the very idea was insane, something for Hollywood to scare the public with, too many geeks watching Terminator and Matrix movies, but Jeff had thought it was definitely possible, pointing out that their fears had been sort of borne out when Microsoft’s Tay chat bot experiment went from zero to Hitler within twenty-four hours.

And if Jeff thought it was possible, then it must be.

She trusted him more than any of these people she had never heard of.

She stared at a camera mounted beside the speaker.

There’s no way it’s some crazy AI thing.

Jeff had said they were years away from it, possibly decades. And besides, why would an AI target just them? Shouldn’t it be trying to kill the entire human race?

No, there were humans behind this, and they had some sort of agenda. And she had a funny feeling that her father was the key to the entire thing, which just might mean she could survive if she played her cards right.

She looked at the others and frowned.

It also meant that everyone else was probably forfeit.

She regarded the Italian woman, her knee still bouncing, her incessant humming having resumed.

Is it wrong to hope they kill her first?

20

Noksapyeong Road

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Dawson watched the Koreans swarming the smoldering wrecks, Niner and Jimmy recording everything just in case they missed something—or if someone tried to pull anything. With the seriousness of the situation, he couldn’t trust anyone except his own team, their loyalty beyond question.

He’d die for any of them.

And they would do the same.

But he didn’t know the Koreans. On these details, you had to put yourself into the hands of your hosts, though only to a point. He had warned the Secret Service of the risks of an automated bus being allowed to transport the President’s daughter but had been overruled. Hacking the vehicle had never occurred to him, he just didn’t trust that it would be safe.

He had a funny feeling no head of state or their family would travel in an automated vehicle again. Not without some sort of large, guaranteed to work, kill-switch within arm’s reach.

Korean techs were retrieving the chips Langley had requested, the periodic shouts of success from the wreckage suggesting at least some had survived. They wouldn’t tell them what had happened to the bus, though they might just tell them why eight men and women—including two Americans—died horrible deaths.

Plus the driver of the truck.

He wasn’t completely convinced of his innocence yet, though he couldn’t see why someone would stick around when they knew they were about to die. This had none of the hallmarks of an Islamist attack, about the only type where people willingly killed themselves so they could tap 72 virgins for eternity. It was most likely that this poor bastard was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and if Langley was right and these vehicles were hacked, then something might have been done to his own vehicle to bring it to a halt right where it did.

One of the techs shouted, a hand appearing from the wheel well of one of the escort vehicles, only his feet visible. Two of his partners pulled him out and safely sealed his prize in a lead-lined container, just in case anyone attempted to wipe the chips with some sort of magnetic pulse. The retrieval crew loaded what must have been the last chip they were searching for into the back of their truck, the supervisor reporting to Senior Inspector Kim. There was a brief exchange then she strode over to Dawson.

“They’ve finished retrieving all the circuit boards. I’m taking them to the lab immediately.”

Dawson motioned toward Niner and Jimmy. “You won’t mind if my men accompany you? We need the data transmitted to Langley immediately.”

She bowed slightly toward the two sergeants. “Of course.”

Dawson turned to his men. “You’re with her. Get the data to Langley then report back.”

“Yes, sir.” Niner popped on his toes and executed a quick heel-click, he and Jimmy now in their Secret Service disguises—dark suits, dark glasses, their casual attire from their aborted visit to the Sung family’s house, retired.

“What now?” asked Atlas, his impossibly deep voice making its presence felt.

“We get ready for a rescue op. Put together an equipment list and have it sent over to Osan. If we find where they were taken, I want to be ready to hit them on a moment’s notice.”

“Roger that.” Atlas paused. “Do you think the Koreans will let us?”

Dawson looked at the heavy police presence. “It doesn’t matter what they want. I’ve got my orders.”

21

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Sir, the Koreans have traced the fuel truck.”

Leroux spun in his chair to face Tong. “And?”

“The driver’s name is Gi-jeong Minn. He’s worked for the company for over seven years with a perfect record. He takes the exact same route every day, passing through that intersection at the same time, almost like clockwork. It’s at the beginning of his route, so there’s nothing to hold him up before he reaches there.”

Leroux’s lips flared as he stared at the display, the personnel records appearing. “Pull yesterday’s traffic camera footage of the intersection. Let’s see how punctual he is.”

Tong attacked her keyboard and moments later new footage played on fast-forward. “There he is!”

Leroux watched the truck pass through the intersection, turning right, exactly at the corner where he had been forced to pull over. He noted the time. Three minutes after today’s arrival. “Go back a day.”

Tong complied, and again they spotted the vehicle. This time two minutes early.

Leroux tapped his chin. “They had to time this perfectly. They couldn’t risk him arriving late, but early is fine.” His eyes narrowed. “If he leaves on time every day, and he has no stops before this point, then the only thing that could hold him up is traffic.” His eyes widened slightly. “Can we see a shot of that road from one of the cameras that were working? Something that shows the traffic lights?”

Tong worked her magic and they were soon watching footage showing a steady stream of traffic heading east. “Is that him?”

Leroux leaned forward in his chair, peering at a fuel truck from the rear as it drove through a green light. “Looks like him.” He snapped his fingers, leaping from his chair. “Look!” He rushed toward the front of the room, pointing at the shot. “Every light is green!” He twirled his finger. “Roll it forward on this shot. Let’s watch what happens.”

The fuel truck continued forward, the traffic flowing smoothly, the lights at the intersection just cleared turning red, all lights ahead remaining green. The traffic was moving smoothly, no delays, and Leroux counted in his head how many seconds the lights remained green.

At forty seconds, it had cleared the next light, it immediately turning red.

At a minute-thirty the next light.

Again red.

He turned to face his team. “They controlled the lights to make sure he’d get there on time.” He pointed at Tong. “Sonya, let the Koreans know they need to look for an intrusion on their traffic control system as well.”

Tong grabbed her phone, quickly dialing.

“Shit!”

Leroux looked at Child. “What?”

“Something’s hitting the web now, sir.” He motioned toward the display. “Look.”

A video filled the screen, a North Korean flag fluttering in the wind, patriotic music blaring as Korean lettering scrolled across the screen. Leroux spun toward Tong. “Get me a Korean translator, now!” He turned back toward the screen to see a series of laughably bad CGI effects showing various landmarks around the world destroyed by cartoonish missile strikes.

In other words, it was of the quality only a country completely isolated from the world could think might be taken seriously.

North Korea.

The shrill voice of a woman sounded as the images continued to loop and text continued to scroll, Leroux motioning for Child to turn the volume down a bit. It dropped to a level where he could think. “Where’s this coming from?”

“It’s hitting all the major sites now. It’s already trending on Twitter.”

Leroux’s eyes narrowed as he turned toward Child. “How long’s it been up?”

“Not even five minutes.”

“Huh.” He turned back toward the amateurish production. “They must be using dummy accounts like we do to force it up the rankings.”

“It’s on Twitter, Reddit, Facebook, LiveLeak. Pretty much everywhere that’s anywhere.”

“Do the news networks have it yet?” He glanced over at an array of displays showing the world’s major news networks to answer his own question.

Nada.

Wait.

The screen with Fox showed a Breaking News banner as the door to the operations center opened. Leroux turned to see an older woman of Asian descent rushing into the room. She opened her mouth but Leroux cut her off, pointing at the screen as he motioned with the other hand for Child to jack the volume.

The woman opened her mouth again when Leroux cut her off, the image suddenly changing, four dead bodies on the screen. “ID them!”

Another window on the display opened, each body isolated, the facial recognition points mapped. The first ID appeared almost immediately as the translator took a seat at one of the terminals, Tong bringing up the video for her to watch.

Child read the identification. “That’s the German Chancellor’s husband, Hermann Holst.”

Another image appeared.

“That’s the Chinese translator.”

The final two images were still processing, though it was clear they were the two members of the security detail who were reportedly on the bus with the hostages.

The door burst open, Director Morrison rushing into the room as the translator leaped to her feet, a pad of paper in her hands. “It’s standard North Korean drivel at the beginning. You have disrespected the Democratic People's Republic of Korea for too long, and now you will pay the price. We have your women, and unless our demands are met, they will die.” She motioned toward the screen. “Then they show the German gentleman.” She glanced back at her pad. “He is but the first. Any attempt to retrieve your women will result in their death. Disobey us at your own peril.” She looked up. “That’s it.”

“Christ!” exclaimed Morrison, watching the video for the first time.

Child jabbed a finger at the screen. “I can’t believe they’d do something like this!”

Morrison shook his head. “We know they’re nuts, but this is taking it further than anyone expected.”

Leroux agreed. “I’d have thought they’d drop a bomb on Seoul before they’d do some sort of high-profile hostage-taking.” He turned to his boss. “What are we going to do?”

Morrison shook his head. “I have a funny feeling we’re about to go to war.”

Leroux frowned. “What do you think the Chinese will do?”

Morrison drew a long breath then exhaled loudly. “I’m not sure. With the Chinese President’s wife on that bus, I would hope they’d be on our side this time.”

22

Maggie Harris Residence

Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

“Can someone get that?”

“I’ll get it!” called Shirley Belme as Maggie worked on a pitcher of Sangria. She heard the door open and pleasantries exchanged as Atlas’ girlfriend, Vanessa Moore, arrived. The wives had collected now that they knew where their men were, and Vanessa was in the unique position as the only civilian non-spouse of the group who knew what her boyfriend did for a living, the Colonel having recently given permission for her to be read in when she had challenged Atlas on his cover, having figured out on her own what he did.

It had almost ended the relationship, though things seemed to be going well now, especially since she had embraced the Unit, the family that connected them all.

She rounded the corner into the kitchen carrying several bags and a tray of what appeared to be homemade hamburger patties.

“What’s this?” Maggie leaned over to take a peek, her frozen burgers sitting on the counter suddenly not so appetizing.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist whipping these up when you mentioned you were going to barbecue. I hope you don’t mind.”

A burst of air erupted from Maggie’s mouth. “Are you kidding? How could I mind?”

“What’s in them?” asked Spock’s wife, Joanne Lightman.

“Medium ground beef, pepper, a homemade seasoned salt, mesquite, barbecue sauce, some fresh garlic—”

“Good thing our husbands are away!” laughed Joanne.

“—and I stuffed them with Velveeta and bacon.” Vanessa shrugged. “You know, the usual. Normally I’d top it with homemade onion rings and a fried egg, but I figured that would be pushing my welcome.”

Shirley laughed. “What do you call them?”

“It’s my cousin’s recipe. I call them Nick’s Heart Attack Specials, because eating too many of these will probably kill you!”

Maggie’s mouth watered. “Sounds delish. I knew it was a good day when Atlas started dating a chef.”

A round of cheers erupted from the ladies, Sangrias topped up by Maggie.

“I just wish I knew where he was,” said Vanessa, her face clouding over.

“Oh, we saw him on the news. He’s perfectly safe.”

Vanessa smiled at Maggie. “Really? Where?”

“South Korea.”

Vanessa’s eyes shot wide, her jaw dropping. “South Korea? Haven’t you been listening to the news?” She rushed from the kitchen, Maggie following. There was a mad scramble for the remote as Bryson tried to play keep-away, a snap from his mother ending the game. Maggie switched from cartoons to CNN.

“Oh my God!”

23

Unknown Location

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Nancy gripped the bench she was sitting on, bracing herself as they came to a rather abrupt halt. Something was said over the speaker in a language she didn’t recognize, though it sounded Chinese or Japanese to her—hell, it could have been Korean or Thai.

All she knew was it meant nothing to her, and it was the first time they had been spoken to in anything but English.

The Chinese woman seemed scared.

I guess it’s Chinese.

The French President’s wife leaned forward. “What did he say?”

The rear door began to lower, sunlight pouring in, the sounds of traffic and life suddenly heard.

Nancy’s heart raced.

If I time it right, I can get out of here.

“I think they’ve ordered me off the truck.”

“You think?”

“I-I’m not sure. It-it was a bad translation, but I’m pretty sure they want me off the truck.”

“But why?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Nancy tore her eyes away from potential freedom and stared at the now shaking Chinese woman.

“I-I think they’re going to kill me!”

The French woman jumped up and shook a fist at the camera, anger etched across her face. “Who are you to do such a thing! What gives you the right to treat people like this! This woman has done nothing wrong! She’s only a wife like the rest of us! We have no power!”

“Behind every strong man is a strong woman.”

Nancy held her breath, the excitement of someone finally fighting back nipped in the bud with the cold, digital reality that faced them.

Everyone flinched then turned as one as the rear ramp hit the pavement with a rattle. Nancy felt her body tense as the internal debate raged on whether to bolt.

Two drones suddenly dropped into view from above, making the decision for her.

“Leave now, or you will die. You will stand on the side of the road until the drones leave. If you attempt to leave before that, you will be killed, and so will the others.”

The Chinese woman stood, straightening her jacket before sucking in a deep breath, forcing as much dignity as she could muster on her face, though her trembling chin betrayed the terror she felt as she jerked forward, a step at a time.

Nancy reached out on impulse, squeezing her hand. The woman flinched then looked at her, forcing a smile on her face before patting Nancy’s hand.

“Be safe, little one.” She reached the rear of the truck and turned back to face the others. “I-I’m so sorry. I don’t know why they’re letting me go.”

“It’s okay. Tell my husband and kids that I love them,” said the Italian woman, tears flowing down her cheeks, she suddenly human again, Nancy immediately regretting her horrible thoughts of earlier. A flurry of messages burst forth, but Nancy sat silently, gripping the bench as she continued to resist the urge to follow the Chinese woman down the ramp.

The moment her feet hit the pavement the ramp began to rise, the large rectangle of light disappearing quickly, becoming a narrowing shaft, then nothing.

“Why do you think they let her go?” asked someone, Nancy not sure who, her eyes still adjusting to their old reality.

Suddenly she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Maybe the Chinese are behind this?”

24

Crawford Residence

Forest Hills, Washington, DC

“Dude, are you seeing this?”

Jeff Crawford’s head bobbed as he snapped his jaw shut before his friends noticed. “These guys need a new special effects company.”

“Pretty cheesy,” agreed his best friend and fellow Squad member Clarence. “How can you be taken seriously as a nuclear power if you can’t even make a realistic looking propaganda video?”

“What’s the difference between North and South Korea?” asked Vic, the third member of their group he had managed to reach.

Jeff stared at a monitor to his left, it split screen with his two friends. “Are you kidding me?”

Clarence shrugged. “I don’t know either. Which one’s the bad one?”

“They’re both bad, aren’t they? I think my grandfather fought them.”

Jeff shook his head. “Man, you guys are useless. North is bad, South is good. We all fought the North, and we all tried to protect the South.”

“Where’s Nancy again?” asked Vic.

Jeff let out a low growl. “South.”

“So then she got kidnapped by the North in the South.”

Jeff nodded. “Yes.”

“I call bullshit on that.”

Jeff glanced at Clarence’s feed. “Why?”

“I’m pulling timestamps from the metadata on these posts all over the web and they’re too close together.”

Jeff tore his eyes away from the video showing the dead bodies. “What do you mean?”

“Well, this is an HD file. It’s pretty big.”

“So?”

“Sooo, according to what I’m reading here, North Korea only has 2.5 gigs of bandwidth for the entire country, all through China.”

Vic spun in his chair. “Are you kidding me? I’ve almost got that coming into my house!”

“Exactly! So how the hell did they upload that much data in seconds with that little bandwidth? They couldn’t have!”

Jeff agreed. “There’s no way.” His eyes narrowed as he watched the video. “Maybe someone did it for them?”

Clarence nodded. “That’s the only way I can think of.”

Jeff leaned forward and cracked his knuckles. “Then we need to find out who.”

25

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Show me their bandwidth usage.”

Leroux watched the display as Child brought up the data. “Looks like they’re pretty much tapped out, but then again, they always are.”

Leroux agreed. The North Koreans had a single line connecting the country to the Chinese networks, though there were rumors of a second, high-speed line reserved for the elites. There were also satellite connections, though those were limited in capability.

Bandwidth was at a premium, and a high-definition video, uploaded to hundreds of sites within seconds, just wasn’t possible unless they had shut down all access, reserving all the bandwidth for this one task.

Something he highly doubted.

Child motioned toward the screen. “You’d think the Chinese would give them more bandwidth than that.”

“I don’t think they trust them anymore. What with Bureau 121 out of control in Pyongyang, they’re probably afraid they’ll become targets if they piss off the psycho.” Leroux tapped his chin. “It definitely wasn’t transmitted from within North Korea.”

“What are you thinking?”

Leroux looked at Child. “Someone transmitted it from the outside.”

“We already know Bureau 121 does a lot of its work from outside. China mostly.”

“Exactly. We need to find them. Whoever uploaded the original video knows where the hostages are.”

“Sir, got something.”

Leroux turned toward Tong, who pointed at the screen. A video showing a busy city street appeared, pedestrians passing, cars farther in the shot, a fairly steady though not heavy stream.

“What am I looking at?”

“An ATM on Sapyeong Street. Watch.”

The video continued when Leroux smiled, a bus, G20 logos emblazoned on the side, driving past. “Okay everyone, concentrate your efforts on buildings that could house a bus on that route from that location onward.” He pointed at Tong. “And get that to Delta.”

26

Embassy of the United States Seoul

32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

“It is imperative that we respond immediately and with strength. There can be no hesitation. Pyongyang must be made to realize they risk war if they do not return the hostages.”

President Starling agreed, the Japanese Prime Minister clearly correct. The only way to deal with a bully was to stand up to him. With North Korea now confirmed involved, it changed the game. This was about face, not money, not religion. North Korea had a long history of playing the petulant child, and it appeared they had taken it to new extremes.

Kidnapping wasn’t new. They were credited with a long list of abductions including that of Korean nationals living in other countries, as well as Japanese and other foreigners, though this scale and profile was unprecedented.

And they had a history of killing.

But again, to kill the German Chancellor’s husband was unfathomable.

Yet he was dead.

And the world now knew who was responsible.

The German people were demanding action despite their pacifist history since the war, and every other country with the exception of the Chinese were already dealing with the outrage of the public. His briefing only minutes ago indicated talk radio stations and Internet discussion groups were afire, war demanded.

“We have limited assets in the area,” said the British Prime Minister. “I’ve ordered as many vessels as we can spare to head to the region, but it will take weeks before we can contribute substantially. I’m afraid it will be up to regional powers to handle this for the time being. Mr. President, I assume we can count on the Pacific Fleet?”

Starling nodded. “I’ve already ordered our forces to full readiness. Elements of the Seventh Fleet are being redeployed from patrols in the South China Sea and Japan.”

“I’ve ordered our Navy to deploy as well,” said the Australian Prime Minister. “We also have several fighter squadrons that are ready to assist should it become necessary. What I want to know is what the Chinese response to this is? President Cheng, you are perhaps North Korea’s only ally in the region. Is there anything you can do?”

Cheng cleared his throat. “We have of course been in contact with Pyongyang, who deny any involvement. In fact, they are threatening war over the implied insult that they would commit such a crime.”

“Ridiculous!” cried the French President. “That lunatic is always threatening war.”

The British Prime Minister agreed. “If someone breaks wind in Trafalgar Square near a North Korean, they think it’s an attack on their dear leader or whatever the bloody hell they’re calling this one.”

“Gentlemen, if I may,” interjected the South Korean President. “It is the North’s unpredictability that we must be wary of. They have a standing army of over one million men and over seven-hundred artillery pieces within striking distance of the capital. If we go to war, this city will be leveled and tens of thousands will die, if not more.”

Starling’s head bobbed, he painfully aware this was the most dangerous capital city in the civilized world, it the only one with a sworn enemy within shelling distance. “Agreed. We need to be very careful how we proceed. We should position our forces but avoid provocation. This is more than our loved ones at risk, it is the lives of the innocent civilians of this country as well, that must be considered.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked the Australian Prime Minister.

“I suggest we be extremely careful lest we risk war.”

The Italian Prime Minister raised a finger as he leaned toward the camera. “Not to sound the coward, but with Seoul being within artillery range, should we still be in the city? My security team wants to evacuate immediately.”

The Australian nodded. “Mine as well.”

Starling glanced at Red, who had remained remarkably well behaved after the initial refusal to evacuate, the operator’s face revealing no emotion.

“Then it is agreed, we should leave at once?” asked the Italian.

“Yes,” replied the German Chancellor, the woman displaying remarkable courage and strength after having just lost her husband. “But if we leave, we must do so as one, so no one person is singled out by the media.”

The South Korean returned to her chair. “We can evacuate to Busan. It is out of range.”

Starling drew a breath before speaking. “I will not leave until my daughter is safe. The rest of you are free to leave, and I urge you to do so. Do not let the foolish desire of a father dissuade you.”

The Canadian Prime Minister spoke. “Mr. President, while I understand your desire to be near your daughter, right now we have no idea if they are even in Seoul. We should evacuate so our security teams can focus on finding the hostages rather than worry about us.”

Starling agreed, the argument sound. The man was right. Right now he had two Delta operators providing security for him, when they could be out searching, and he was certain the same was true for them all. He sighed. “Very well. I’ll meet you in Busan.”

The South Korean Prime Minister, the Chair of the meeting, ended the teleconference. “Ladies and gentlemen, this meeting is adjourned. We will reconvene when we are all secure in Busan.”

The displays went blank and Starling leaned back in his chair.

“I’ll arrange the evac,” said Red as he headed for the door.

Starling shook his head. “No. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving this city until my daughter is in my arms.”

Red stopped and turned. “What will we tell the others?”

Starling peered out the window. “Nothing. Send Marine One with my double to Busan then isolate him. I’ll conduct all meetings with them via telecom. They don’t need to know.”

Red grunted. “They’re going to be pretty pissed when they find out.”

Starling turned to him. “So be it. I’m not leaving without my daughter.”

27

Seoul Metropolitan Police Lab

31 Sajik-ro-8-Gil, Seoul, Republic of Korea

Niner watched carefully as the technicians worked on the recovered chips. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them—he didn’t—it was that he got the feeling they weren’t operating under the same sense of urgency as he was. The President’s daughter was missing, a young girl he knew, someone he had been through one of the most harrowing experiences of his life with. After all, how many people could say they survived the crash of a 747 in the jungle?

Her mother had died, enough for any one family to go through. He respected the new President. The man had kept his cool during those events and others, and though Niner wasn’t political, he did think the man was doing a decent job under trying circumstances.

And Niner was determined to get the girl back.

I can’t imagine what he’s going through.

Niner wasn’t sure if he wanted kids. Maybe eventually, but definitely not now. Though when he saw Red with his little guy, he had to admit the man appeared happy. In fact, he seemed happiest when he was with his family. That seemed to be the pattern. The guys loved the Unit, loved their brothers in arms, yet when the mission was over, those with families were out the door as fast as they could manage, leaving the single guys to drink the beer.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want a girlfriend. He did. He just couldn’t seem to find the right woman. Jimmy said it was because they couldn’t take him seriously, every second word out of his mouth some sort of quip. It might be true, but that was who he was. If a woman wanted to be in a relationship with him, she’d have to be able to keep up.

He found his eyes settling on the Korean woman, Senior Inspector Kim. She was smokin’ hot in a buttoned-down sense. A lot of guys went for leggy blondes or busty redheads, but he was more into the tinier packages, and she was definitely that, though she was short by no means, Koreans not your stereotypical Asian, they on average only an inch or two shorter than Americans. He himself was actually slightly short for his heritage; something Atlas had no qualms teasing him about. His lithe form didn’t help. Barrel chests were not a family trait, as was confirmed with his interrupted visit with the family.

One of the techs from the car company held up his hand, Kim walking over. “What is it?”

“The base code for this chip has been modified.”

Niner’s eyes widened and he quietly translated for Jimmy.

“Are you sure?” asked Kim.

“Yes. The checksums don’t match. We’ll have to analyze the code to see how exactly it was modified, but it definitely was.”

Niner joined them. “Could it have been hacked?”

The tech shook his head. “No. These are set at the factory and there’s no way to change them. It’s a security feature to prevent tampering. You’d have to have changed them at the factory or at a dealership when being serviced.”

“So no way to do it remotely.”

“Absolutely no way. They’re isolated.”

“Can you figure out when they were modified?”

Another tech stepped forward, holding up a tablet. “It had to be at the factory.”

“Why?”

“These are brand new vehicles. According to the computer, they’ve never been serviced. They’ve got less than one thousand kilometers on them.”

Niner bit the inside of his cheek for a moment then looked at Kim. “We still need to know when they were modified. If we’re dealing with the North Koreans, then they could still have done it after the vehicles were delivered.”

“No.”

Niner turned to the tech. “You sound pretty certain.”

“I am. This chip was definitely modified at the factory.”

“How can you tell?”

The tech tapped away at a keyboard for a moment then pointed at the display.

“I’m lost,” whispered Jimmy as he leaned in to look at the screen filled with Korean text.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” replied Niner as he quickly read the screen. He turned to the tech, speaking Korean. “Is this showing the update history of the chip?”

The man nodded. “Yes. This shows that someone modified the chip before a patch was applied. We discovered a bug in the software that we fixed just before shipping the vehicles.” He pointed at a line on the screen. “That’s the patch.” He pointed at a line below it. “This is when it was modified by someone.” He pointed at the last line. “And this is the original installation.” He jabbed a finger at the chip. “This was definitely done at the factory.”

Niner cursed. “There’s no way in hell we’re going to find out who did it, then. Thousands of people could have had access at some point.”

The tech shook his head. “Not necessarily true.”

“Excuse me?”

“These are brand new vehicles, delivered for the G20 meeting.”

“How new?” asked Kim.

“Less than two weeks. And because they were for a government client, additional security precautions were taken. The access might be more limited than you think.”

Kim clasped her hands behind her back. “We’re going to need a list of every single person who might have laid a finger on both these vehicles. Now.”

28

Seoripul Park

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Byung-ho lay on his back, enjoying the heat from the sun as it beat down on his face and bare arms. It was an incredible day. A perfect day. He started a new job tomorrow, his new girlfriend had told him she loved him last night, and he simply couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

Life was good.

The sound of the city beyond the park was unavoidable, though nature was making its presence felt, the sound of birds surrounding him something he would never tire of, something he missed dearly. He had left the family farm for the excitement of the city, a friend getting him the job he began tomorrow, and a room in his apartment. It was small, much smaller than he was used to, but he didn’t care—he didn’t plan to spend much time there. It had only been two weeks and he had met a girl, fallen in love, got a new job at an electronics factory, and made more friends than he could possibly have imagined.

The only thing he missed was his mother’s cooking and the smell of his father’s corncob pipe, handed down from his grandfather who had fought with the Americans and worshiped MacArthur. He thought it rather ridiculous, though he could never imagine his father on the porch after a long day’s work without it.

He sighed, pulling out his phone and firing a quick text message to his young sister.

Tell mom and dad I love them.

The phone immediately vibrated.

What, you don’t love me?

He chuckled.

Tell yourself I love you too.

Smiley faces and heart-shaped emoticons were the response.

Someone whimpered near him.

He turned his head toward the sound, seeing no one, and was about to chalk it up to an overly sentimental imagination when he heard it again.

He sat up.

Cocking an ear, he tried to find the source. There were others in the park, though no one alone, at least not within earshot, and no one that he could see crying.

Again a whimper.

He stood, brushing off his slacks, then slowly walked toward where he thought he heard the sound. There was a thatch of trees nearby, the traffic of the city on the other side, another whimper confirming without a doubt the sounds were coming from within.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

He continued toward the trees, the whimpering now constant, it no longer a stray sound carried by the wind to his ears.

“Are you okay? Do you need help?”

He reached the trees and pushed through, the light traffic on the other side getting louder, the whimpers now sounding like they were from either a woman or a child. He broke through and gasped.

An older woman, impeccably dressed, stood pressed against the trees, shaking in fear as four drones hovered in front of her.

“What the—!”

One of the drones turned toward him and his jaw dropped as he recognized the barrel of a gun pointing toward him. He leaped back into the trees as the sound of gunfire erupted, bark splintering in all directions as the shots missed, blasting apart the tree trunks. He crawled on his hands and knees as he scrambled deeper into the trees when the shooting stopped. Glancing over his shoulder, he had a view of the woman, still standing, thankfully not hit, and the four drones.

Suddenly they darted away and out of sight.

He tentatively climbed to his feet, gingerly stepping forward and back into the open, all the while scanning the skies, the drones nowhere to be seen. He turned to the woman.

“What just happened?”

29

Noksapyeong Road

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“They’ve found the Chinese President’s wife!”

Dawson’s eyebrows rose slightly, it no competition for Spock’s jacked-up single entry. “Where?” he asked their new liaison, Senior Inspector Kim still off with Niner and Jimmy.

“Not far from here. Do you wish to attend?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

The man stared at him, puzzled. “I don’t know. I assume so.”

Dawson suppressed a smile. “The answer is yes.”

The man’s head slowly bobbed then he smiled, his eyes widening as his translation buffer finally caught up with the conversation. “Ahh, I understand!” He smiled, pointing toward their vehicle. “Follow us. We are leaving now.”

Dawson climbed in the passenger seat as he jacked into Langley, their embassy driver taking the wheel. “Control, Zero-One. Do you copy, over?”

“Zero-One, Control Actual. Go ahead, over.”

“We’ve just been notified they found the Chinese President’s wife. Do you have any additional information?”

“Not much,” replied Leroux. “Reports are just coming in now. Apparently she was found on the side of the road about twenty minutes ago.”

Dawson exchanged a look with Spock, suppressing his desire to curse. “Why did it take so long to notify us?”

“A civilian found her and called it in. The police didn’t know who they were dealing with. I guess they thought it was just some old woman having mental issues. They just put two and two together a few minutes ago.”

“Christ!” muttered Dawson. “Any luck on finding a possible destination for the bus?”

“Still working on it, but she might be able to tell you something that could help.”

“Copy that.”

Spock pointed ahead as they rapidly approached half a dozen emergency vehicles.

“Control, we’re arriving at the scene now. I’ll contact you with an update shortly. Zero-One, out.”

The driver pulled to the curb behind a police car and they all piled out. An ambulance stood nearby, its green lights flashing, the rear doors opened, the Chinese President’s wife, Mrs. Cheng, sitting on the rear step, a blood pressure cuff on one arm. Their liaison was already in a huddle with those on the scene. Dawson walked toward them when something was shouted in Korean, their contact clearly surprised by something.

“What is it?” Everyone turned toward him. “Did she say who kidnapped her?”

Their liaison nodded, for some reason struggling with the answer.

“Who?”

He looked at Dawson, almost ashamed to reply. He sucked in a breath, the single word bursting forth.

“Drones.”

30

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Drones?”

Leroux exchanged a glance with Tong who appeared equally surprised. Dawson’s update was good news in that it most likely meant the other hostages were probably alive, though the question was why they let this particular one go.

“Yeah, that’s what she’s claiming. From what we can piece together, the bus’s automated system was taken over and a voice over the speaker told them to stay put and do nothing or explosives attached to the bus would be detonated.”

Leroux frowned at the mention of explosives. “We’ll have to work that into any rescue strategy obviously, but I find it hard to believe.”

“Yeah, me too. That bus was swept front to back, top to bottom, before they boarded, and was under constant guard. The only way explosives got under the bus is if they were attached after they left, and you’d think the security team would have spotted that.”

Child spun in his chair. “Could’ve done it from underneath. At a traffic light or something, when they stopped.”

Leroux agreed. “Possible. But they would have had to know they were going to stop in a particular place.” He tossed his head back, closing his eyes. “Just like they knew the fuel truck would be where it was.” He drew a breath then exhaled quickly. “Which means it’s totally possible. I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the possibility, Zero-One.”

“Copy that.”

“Did she have any intel on where they went?”

“Not much. She doesn’t know the city at all, and she said most people were keeping their head down. They apparently went into some sort of warehouse where they ordered the guards and the German Chancellor’s husband off the bus. They were shot by drones the moment they stepped down.”

Leroux’s eyebrows shot up. “What kind of drones?”

“Small Radio Shack type things from what she described. We’re not talking Predators here.”

“Is that even possible?” asked Child.

Leroux nodded. “Yeah. Some guy did it a couple of years ago and posted it on YouTube. Definitely possible.” He glanced up at the ceiling, toward the speakers. “How many drones are we dealing with?”

“She and the witness suggest there were four to six drones holding her, plus another couple of dozen apparently at the warehouse where they were offloaded and put in a semi-trailer.”

“Why was she let go?”

“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it? If it’s the North Koreans behind this, it does make sense. China is their ally, after all. Now they’ve got no reason to get involved.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Leroux checked his watch. “When will she be given a full debriefing?”

“She won’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Chinese have already arrived and taken her.”

Leroux could hear the frustration in Dawson’s voice, his own chest tightening in anger. This woman was their only lead to the others. Lives depended on what she might remember, perhaps something she didn’t even realize she knew. Experts needed to debrief her, and they needed to do it now. “Where’d they take her?”

“No idea, they’re not talking. She could be able to provide us with valuable intel, though, so someone above my pay grade needs to get on this right away. Zero-Two’s asking the President if there’s anything he can do, so that’s about as high as you can go.”

Child leaned forward in his chair. “Could the Chinese be involved?”

Leroux shook his head. “Doubt it. They’re Communist, not crazy.”

Tong cleared her throat. “Why not just leave her at the warehouse?”

Leroux looked at her, his lips pursed. “That’s exactly what I was wondering myself.”

31

Embassy of the United States Seoul

32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Drones?”

Red nodded. “Yes, Mr. President. According to Mrs. Cheng, they were surrounded by weaponized civilian drones. As far as we know, they never saw anyone.”

Starling felt his chest tighten. There had been no official communication from North Korea besides denials issued in their media and through the Chinese. They had his daughter and the others, and now from the sounds of what he was hearing, there were no humans involved, just hacked vehicles and drones.

But why did they release the Chinese hostage?

“Does she know where they were taken?”

Red shook his head, his teeth clenching slightly. “We didn’t get an opportunity to question her for more than a few minutes. The Chinese arrived and took her.”

Starling’s fist slammed onto the desk, everything rattling. “This is ridiculous! We need to know what she knows!”

“Agreed, sir. She at the very least saw the truck they were loaded into. Even a vague description of that might help us.”

Starling forced his fingers to relax, his clenched fist slowly releasing as he regained control of his anger, it never helpful. “Were there any cameras showing her getting out of the truck?”

Red shook his head. “No, sir. All the cameras in the area were jammed the entire time she was there.”

Starling leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “Drones. Does North Korea even have that capability?”

“Sir, a fourteen-year-old in Texas could do this.”

Starling closed his eyes and sighed. “For all we know, it is a fourteen-year-old in Texas behind all this.”

“You’re not convinced it’s North Korea?”

Starling opened his eyes and leaned forward. “I wouldn’t put anything past them, but this is a little insane even for them.” He stared at a monitor that had been set up showing the positioning of military assets for American, allied and enemy forces. “What are the North Korean’s doing?”

Red glanced at the screen then checked a tablet. “They’re on full alert and sending more troops to the edge of the DMZ.”

Starling shook his head. “And we’re doing the same.” He sighed. “All it might take is a single shot fired in anger or fear to ignite a second Korean War.”

“Let’s pray that doesn’t happen.”

Starling frowned then shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the display. “Unless we find my daughter and the others, war may be inevitable.”

The sound of a helicopter lifting off outside had Red heading for the window. He glanced back at Starling with a slight smile. “Looks like you just left, Mr. President.”

Starling was about to reply when his cellphone vibrated on the desk. His eyes narrowed and Red turned away from the window. “Who could that be?”

“Do you get calls to that phone?”

Starling shook his head. “Rarely, not even my wife would have called.” His eyes popped wide and his heart raced. “But my daughter!” He grabbed the phone as Red activated his comm, holding out a finger for him to wait.

“Control, Zero-Two. Trace the call coming into the President’s cellphone, now!” Red listened for a moment then nodded to Starling.

Starling, fingers trembling, tapped to take the call. “Hello? Nancy?”

“No, Mr. President, but I am the person who has her.”

32

En route to Shinhan Motors

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Drones?”

Senior Inspector Kim’s eyebrows shot up as she exchanged a glance with her driver. The very idea was preposterous, though it fit perfectly with what they already knew. The security vehicles had been hacked and steered into the fuel truck, and the automated tour bus had disappeared with no one physically at the controls. Traffic cameras had been hacked, and now drones—technology—were herding the hostages from one location to another.

Incredible!

“Yes, Inspector. That’s what she said before the Chinese took her.”

“Didn’t we get a report this morning of something with drones?”

She heard fingers tapping on the other end of the call. “Yeah. Bonggyo Industrial Bakery. They reported that a shipping container had been delivered that apparently contained hundreds, possibly thousands of drones that took off and disappeared the moment they opened it.”

“Any progress?”

“A little. The container was traced back to the Merchant Ship Red Star, apparently loaded in Yantai, China, two weeks ago. The bakery says they have no idea who ordered it. The owner is visiting family and swears he never placed the order.”

Kim stared ahead at the traffic. “Do we believe him?”

“According to the file, the business is struggling financially. There’s no way he could afford to buy that many drones.” There was a pause. “Inspector, do you think it’s related?”

“Hundreds, possibly thousands of drones are shipped here and disappear, then later the same day drones are used in the kidnapping of the G20 spouses?” Kim grunted. “I don’t believe in coincidences.” She checked her side mirror, the vehicle with the Americans close behind them. “I’ll inform the Americans.”

33

Unknown Location

Republic of Korea

The truck jerked to a halt and Nancy gasped as a previously unnoticed panel in the floor slid open, the sound of traffic heard as the engine turned off. A buzzing sound had Nancy pressing against the wall before two drones suddenly floated through the hole. Someone screamed, who she didn’t know, for it could have been her. The Canadian squeezed her arm and Nancy’s free hand clasped hers, gripping it hard as she trembled, the two devices hovering in front of her before floating to the door.

“Miss Starling, please climb down through the opening.”

Every muscle tensed and her hand darted out, gripping the Canadian by the wrist as she began to tremble. She felt the woman gently place a hand over hers as she leaned in closer.

“It’s okay, dear. This is all about you. They’ll never hurt you.”

Nancy’s head spun toward the woman, her eyes wide as the words sunk in. It was about her. Both times, she had been the first told to move, and if she was the reason for all this, it made sense. If something was to go wrong, they’d want their primary target already in place should they need to flee and leave the others.

They’re not going to kill you.

She relaxed slightly, easing her grip.

At least not yet.

She tensed up again.

“If you do not comply immediately, we will kill one of the others.”

The others’ whimpers forced her to inhale deeply and let go of the Canadian’s arm. She closed her eyes for a moment then peered through the opening, seeing the gaping pit of an uncovered manhole below. She sat on the floor, her feet dangling over the edge, then lowered herself into the hole, her feet finding the first rung of the ladder inside. She looked at the others as she slowly climbed down, tear-streaked faces of mothers surrounding her, there little doubt they were all imagining their own children in this situation. The Canadian stepped into view, a gentle smile on her face, her glistening eyes betraying her true feelings.

“It’ll be all right. Just do what they say.”

Nancy nodded as her head passed floor level and suddenly she could see under the truck. Several blinking lights drew her attention, what appeared to be cameras and other sensors placed around the underside of the vehicle.

Maybe that’s how they were able to stop right where they needed to.

She shook her head.

Or this is another automated vehicle, and those sensors just help keep it on the road.

She kept climbing down, a sudden thought occurring to her.

Who moved the grate?

Her eyes widened with excitement as she noticed a sliver of the street ahead of her, several people walking by, their shoes evident though little more. She stopped, her fingers tightening around the rung as an internal debate raged on whether to call out for help.

Then her mind flashed to Herr Holst, to the security guards, to the heroic Chinese woman.

If this is about me, then they died because of me.

Her shoulders heaved as she took another step down.

No one else dies because of me.

She descended into the stink and damp of what thankfully seemed to be a storm system as opposed to a sewage line. She reached the ground and flinched as several drones surged toward her, coming to a stop only feet from her. She held up her hands, protecting her face, when the voice was suddenly heard, not as loud this time, coming from one of the drones.

“Follow the drone. If you try to run, you will be shot.”

She heard something overhead and looked to see a pair of feet descending toward her.

“Don’t wait for the others.”

One of the drones was already moving away from her, a light on its underside showing the way. She took a tentative step toward it then committed, moving briskly along a walkway to the left thankfully high enough to keep her feet dry, there little water, it apparently not having rained for some time. And as she moved deeper into the tunnel, and farther from the truck, the truck that perhaps could have been traced, she realized the purpose.

They’re destroying the trail!

Her eyes overflowed and her shoulders shook.

Help us, Daddy!

34

Route 330

Seoul, Republic of Korea

CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane gunned his Hyosung GT650R Comet, threading it between two lanes of traffic as he raced toward his target. The moment Nancy Starling had gone missing, he had been called in, he fortunately on assignment just across the pond known as the Yellow Sea, a mission in China aborted, the President’s daughter taking priority. His handler had given him the expected instructions.

Do whatever it takes.

As a CIA operative, he had few limitations on what he was allowed to do, though killing indiscriminately was frowned upon. Essentially he normally had free rein to do what needed to be done, as long as it didn’t come back to bite the United States on the ass.

Though today he had no such restrictions.

“By whatever it takes, what do you mean?”

“It means the President will clean up your mess.”

He had smiled at that one, it the first time he had heard the Rules of Engagement essentially to be no Rules of Engagement. He understood the reasoning. The man had lost his wife a year ago, and now his teenage daughter had been kidnapped by what appeared to be the North Koreans until only a few minutes ago, Langley’s update indicating there might actually be someone else behind this.

And at this moment in time, there was only one witness to the event who might be able to help discover who that person might be—and she was being shuttled to the airport for immediate evac to Beijing.

And that couldn’t be allowed to happen.

Yet despite the no holds barred directive issued by the President, Delta or the Secret Service couldn’t exactly do anything to prevent the evacuation. It might cause an international incident that could escalate an already tense situation.

“You’re coming up on them now. Less than half a klick.”

“Copy that.”

Kane had been pleased to discover that Control on this mission would be his old high school buddy, Chris Leroux. The teenage über dork had been his tutor, helping him get his grades up enough to get into college, and during the course of their long study sessions, they had become good, if unlikely, friends, he the popular jock, Leroux the nerdy loner. They had lost touch over the years, their friendship rekindled after a chance encounter in the Langley cafeteria.

It had been a welcome surprise, friends who could know the truth few and far between in his line of work.

A Jaguar F-PACE SUV came into view as it changed lanes ahead, the distinct white on blue diplomatic plates matching what Dawson, a former comrade-in-arms, had reported. “Probable course?”

“They should be making a right in three hundred meters. There’s much lighter traffic there.”

“Copy that.”

A signal light flashed and they took an off-ramp as expected, he tucking in behind them, flicking a switch on his right handlebar. He leaned forward, a Heads-Up Display projected on the windshield showing his target.

“Taking the shot.” He pressed the trigger and a small device fired from his heavily customized CIA motorcycle, embedding itself in the rear of the vehicle. “Sending pulse.” He pressed another button and a surge of electrical power immediately fried the vehicle’s electronics, it quickly losing speed and coasting to the side of the road, the driver probably used to complete electrical failure in a Jag. “Vehicle disabled.”

He pulled up behind them and dismounted, pulling his weapon as the passenger door opened. He strode forward then fired a tranquilizer dart into the security agent, pushing him back inside as he fired at the driver. A man in the rear shouted and Kane fired again, silencing him. He looked at the terrified wife of the Chinese President, the poor woman victimized all over again. He removed his helmet and smiled at her, speaking in perfect Mandarin. “Mrs. Cheng, I’m not here to hurt you, but I need to ask you some questions if we’re to save the other hostages.”

A look of relief washed over the woman’s face as her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! The voice told me that I couldn’t leave the country, but these men wouldn’t listen!”

Kane nodded. If the Chinese were in on the hostage taking, then leaving her in-country certainly would put her at risk if there were a military response from North Korea. The fact that she had been ordered to stay seemed to cast some doubt on whether they were involved.

Unless he hates his wife.

It wouldn’t be the first time, though from the intel reports he had read on the couple, he doubted that was the case. He smiled at her. “Ma’am, I have a few questions that must be answered before it’s too late. Will you help me save the other women?”

She snapped out a nod. “Of course.”

“Good. Then let’s begin with this voice you spoke of.”

35

Unknown Location

Republic of Korea

It felt like ten minutes though might have been only five—or twenty—before the drone stopped at another ladder, two new drones blocking Nancy’s path. The original drone that had led the way immediately whisked out of sight, in the direction where she had come. She could hear footsteps echoing behind her, the others making their way, the knowledge of that fact providing her with some comfort.

She wouldn’t be alone for long.

She climbed the ladder without prompting, anything that would free her from the confines of this dank, dark environment welcome. Though it also signaled the end of any hope of being traced. She had seen enough movies to know it would be almost impossible for anyone to track them after they got into what she assumed was another truck overhead.

And she’d never see her father again if things went wrong.

She looked down then up, none of the drones in sight—at least not yet.

I have to do something.

She paused, her hand coming to rest on her necklace, a gold cross her mother had given her for her twelfth birthday.

And ripped it off her neck. She held it out, peering down, trying to aim for the narrow walkway along the edge of the massive pipe.

And let go.

It fell, the chain swaying in the air, the cross hitting first, without a sound, coming to rest in a tiny pile, exactly where it needed to be.

In plain sight.

She closed her eyes and prayed for a moment that none of the others accidentally kicked it into the water, and that anyone searching for them would spot it, understanding the message.

Niner would understand.

She resumed her climb, suddenly aware her delay might be suspicious. She caught another glimpse of freedom, though this time she saw no evidence of humanity, but did hear light traffic. The underside of the truck once again bristled with technology, and once again she was left to wonder who had moved the grate, it certainly not any of the drones they had been witness to.

Robots?

She immediately dismissed the thought, robots removing drain covers a little too conspicuous to go unnoticed. Drones she could understand. They could fly for miles. In fact, according to Jeff, someone on the other side of the planet could control a properly equipped drone. She assumed these were connected to the Internet somehow, perhaps through Wi-Fi, more likely through some sort of cellular connection. And if that were the case, their operator could be anywhere.

Robots, though, were not so flexible. Someone would have had to place it there, and if they had, then why wouldn’t they just remove the manhole cover themselves?

It meant they were here, in Korea.

The North Koreans!

The thought sent a chill up her spine as she cleared the ladder and pulled herself up into the back of yet another vehicle, this one much smaller than the last. She stood, hunched over, in what appeared to be a box van of some sort, benches again lining the walls, a camera and speaker at the front, two buzzing drones hovering near the roll-up rear door.

“Pumpkin?”

Her heart leaped into her throat, a hard ball forming in her chest, forcing its way up.

“It’s Daddy. Can you hear me?”

“Y-yes!” she cried, her head spinning in the ridiculous hope he was actually in the truck with her, unnoticed in some missed corner.

“Are you okay?”

“You’ve got to help us! They’ve killed four people already! They killed that nice German man and some others. And I don’t know what they did with the Chinese lady.”

“She’s safe. Don’t worry about her. You just stay calm and we’ll find y—”

“Touching.” The inhuman voice they had all come to fear abruptly interrupted her father’s voice. “Now you have your proof of life, Mr. President. Now it is time for you to do something for us.”

“Daddy!”

A burst of static, then nothing. She dropped onto one of the benches, battling to control the urge to sob in self-pity, as the Italian poked her head through the opening in the floor.

“Who are you talking to?”

Nancy’s head fell back against the side of the truck as she sighed. “Myself, I guess.” She rose and took the woman’s hand, helping her up, the others following over several minutes. She’d tell them about the conversation when they had all arrived, there no point in repeating it a dozen or more times. Besides, she didn’t feel like talking right now, she still at war with her emotions, the sound of her father’s voice at once comforting, at once a reminder of all she had to lose.

He’d die without me!

The thought of him all alone broke her heart, a tiny fire in her gut igniting, it the embers of a determination to survive their ordeal, whatever it took, so he wouldn’t die having lost everything he loved.

The panel slid shut. Nancy looked about the truck, noticing none of the translators or support staff with them. She turned to the Canadian, the last to arrive. “Where’s everyone else?”

The woman shook her head. “I don’t know. No one was behind me.”

Nancy took her seat as the truck’s engine roared to life. “What do you think they’ll do to them?”

The question went unanswered, no one daring to contemplate.

36

Embassy of the United States Seoul

32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

“What is it you want?”

“To change the world.”

Starling’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Mr. President, I am contacting you and you alone, for obvious reasons. I have your daughter. For everyone else, I have their wives. I have no way of knowing whether or not they actually love their wives, hate their wives, or care in the least what happens to them either way, however a father loves his daughter. Always. Your attention, I have.”

Starling exchanged a quick glance with Red, the man a father as well, and he could tell they both agreed their opponent was right. A parent would do anything for their child, and a husband would do anything for the woman he loved, but from his own briefings on his counterparts, he knew at least a few of the “happy couples” weren’t so happy in reality.

The man was right.

He was the only one who could be counted on absolutely to cooperate.

“If you tell any of your fellow leaders about our conversation, or the true motive behind what is happening, I will kill your daughter immediately. If your actions give any indication that what the outside world believes is the truth, isn’t, your daughter dies. Understood?”

Starling’s chest filled with rage and horror, the desire to reach through the phone’s speaker and into the man’s throat so he could tear his heart out, almost irresistible.

But this man controlled his daughter’s fate, so he had to cooperate, to remain calm.

“Yes.”

“Very well. Mr. President, your record on environmental protection is pathetic. We represent the people of this planet, the one planet we know is capable of sustaining life, and we are sick and tired of platitudes from our leaders.”

Starling’s eyes shot wide open. The environment? These were eco-terrorists? He had expected North Koreans, perhaps Chinese, even Islamic extremists, but not eco-terrorists. The very idea was almost preposterous, yet here they were, the loved ones of the most powerful nations in the world held hostage so those in power would do the bidding of the nutbars on the other end of this phone call.

“It is time our planet came before the politicians that control our lives and the corporations that control them. It is time our planet was first on the agenda, rather than last. When climate control treaties exempt the worst polluters, when they leave the ambitious yet necessary and difficult targets off the table, then they are not worth the paper they are written on. The world needs a reset, Mr. President, and together, we’re going to change the future. Together, we’re going to give our planet, our species, a fighting chance.”

Starling sat shaking his head. He had never bought into global warming and climate change, at least not the manmade variety. After all, if man’s use of fossil fuels was behind all of the planet’s problems, how did you explain other recent warming periods, including the Medieval Warm Period that had allowed the Vikings to settle and grow crops in Greenland for centuries? There were no cars filling the streets, no homes heated by natural gas.

And he was a champion for the environment. Actual proven problems. He never understood why the real problem of pollution had been abandoned by those who purported in some instances to love their planet more than their own lives, for the questionable assumption of carbon-based global warming. Tackle pollution, and by extension, much of the carbon-based pollutants they feared would be taken care of as well.

But that seemed to have been abandoned.

It was frustrating as a politician to be forced to agree publicly with something he didn’t believe in privately, yet if he didn’t give at least tacit acknowledgment of the “problem”, he could never win reelection. He had seen it first hand in committee meetings where scientists who didn’t toe the line of the new religion were denied funding, and ridiculous new studies having nothing to do with the climate were now linked to climate change just in the hopes they could get funding.

Women are more affected by climate change? ISIL is a result of climate change? We need to study Venus to see the impact of climate change?

“You’re eco-terrorists!” He immediately regretted his frustrated outburst.

“We are not terrorists, Mr. President, we are citizens of the world who will no longer sit idly by and watch cowardly, corporate controlled politicians like yourself, put our planet’s future at risk.”

Starling’s jaw clenched as frustration built within. “The United States does not negotiate with terrorists.”

“Then, Mr. President, your daughter is dead.”

A click sealed her fate.

37

Shinhan Motors Assembly Plant

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Yum!

Niner appreciated the petite package of Senior Inspector Kim as she talked with the Shinhan Motors officials. She glanced at him and he smiled, there no response. He glanced at Jimmy. “I think she’s into me.”

“I think you’ve been sniffing glue.”

“Naw, there’s definitely some chemistry there.”

“The only chemistry is in your pants, and she’s not interested.”

“I think I might have to go on the charm offensive.”

Jimmy gave him a look. “Why? We’re leaving as soon as we find the hostages. All you’re going to do is get yourself all horned up then we’re all going to have to hear about it the entire flight home.”

Niner flicked a wrist at him. “Pshaw, you assume I’m going to fail.”

“So what, you just want to plant the flag then leave? Besides, I thought you were g—”

“Here she comes. Pretend I just said something funny.”

“I don’t think laughter would give the right impression considering the circumstances.”

“Gentlemen, they’ve compiled a list of all the employees that could potentially have had access to the vehicles.”

Niner smiled, it turning awkward as he tried not to seem creepy, he unfortunately doing just that as he aborted the attempt, deciding Jimmy was right. “How long a list?”

“Long.”

“We’ll need to set up interviews with every one of them,” said Jimmy.

Kim shook her head. “That might not be necessary.”

Niner’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“One of the men on this list hasn’t shown up for work since the day after the two vehicles were shipped.”

Niner’s eyes widened slightly, there now a hint of hope. “When was he hired?”

“He’s worked here for over a year.”

“What do we know about him?”

She held up some papers given to her by company officials. “He cleared a government background check when he was hired since he’d have access to government vehicles, and as far as his record goes, he was a model employee.”

“Do we have an address?”

Kim shook the papers and smiled, the sight enough to cause Niner’s stomach to flip. “Yes.”

He returned the smile, no awkwardness this time, what had just been a joke to tease Jimmy with, suddenly a genuine attraction. “Then let’s go pick him up.”

38

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Were you able to trace the call?”

Child shook his head, Leroux frowning. “No. It looks like they bounced it all over the damned planet. Whoever is behind this is good.”

Leroux drummed his fingers on his workstation. The North Koreans were good. Not as good as they would like the world to believe, yet not as incompetent as their leadership would suggest. They had been trained by the Chinese, who were definitely good, with intel suggesting the Russians were also helping develop the rogue nation’s cyberwarfare capabilities. But the phone conversation that had just occurred seemed to indicate the North had nothing to do with what was going on.

Innocent for the first time.

“If these are eco-terrorists, then they’re going far beyond anything in the past.”

“But why make it look like North Korea is behind it?” asked Tong, turning in her chair. “Wouldn’t an all-out war damage the environment? Hell, all the hardware we’ve got steaming into that area is spewing enough carbon to make a true environmentalist weep!”

Leroux chuckled. “You’re right. By making it look to the world like the North Koreans are behind this they’re definitely risking a war, especially if the Chinese decide to take the wrong side again.”

A burst of frustration erupted from Child. “We need to get the word out that it’s not the North behind this.”

Leroux shook his head. “We can’t do that. The instructions to the President were clear. If the truth gets out then the hostages die, starting with Nancy Starling.”

Child spun in his chair, dropping a foot to end the motion. “Do they really think they can influence foreign policy like this? It doesn’t make any sense! We could pass whatever laws they want but once the hostages are freed, then what could they possibly do to make sure we stick to the agreement?”

“Nothing that I can think of,” agreed Tong.

Child jabbed the air with a finger. “Exactly! That’s why none of this makes sense!” He stopped, his eyes narrowing. “Could this all be a smoke screen? Just like the North Korean thing?”

Leroux nodded, allowing the speculation to continue, always encouraging freethinking among his team, many of the best ideas coming from brainstorming sessions just like this. “It’s possible.”

“Then what the hell’s the real motivation here? Certainly not what we’ve been told.”

Tong interrupted, excited. “Sir, look at this!”

Leroux stared at the display, footage from a security camera showing the hijacked bus driving by. Another image appeared beside it from what he assumed was the U2 flyby. “What am I looking at?”

“Same area, a few minutes later.”

The image zoomed in on a building from above, the backend of the bus pulling into a building.

A smile broke out on Leroux’s face, he leaning over and slapping Tong on the back, the woman flushing. “I think we just found where they went.” He jumped from his chair, pointing at the map. “Get that info to Delta right away!”

39

Guro District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Dawson held back with the others, his desire to take point on this operation kept in check by the competence displayed by the South Korean team as they surrounded the building. They were well-equipped and from all outward appearances, well-led, the team lead already having done the courtesy of allowing him to sit in on the final on-scene briefing, a translator provided.

A small charge detonated, the lock on the large door the bus had gone through blasted, a man on either side hauling it up as two of the assault team lay prone on the ground, prepared to take out any hostiles that may be on the other side. Flashbangs bounced through the opening, the detonation loud though muffled by the still opening door and their frustrating position of bringing up the rear in the operation.

With the door high enough, the remainder of the team poured in, the complete lack of gunfire just confirming what infrared sensors had already told them.

There was no one inside.

Dawson surged forward with Atlas, Spock, and Jagger, he and Atlas sweeping left, the others right, visually confirming no hostiles.

But there was a bus.

The bus.

He activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One. We found the bus, over.”

“Any sign of the hostages?”

Atlas pointed to his left and Dawson looked, frowning. “We’ve got four bodies here, just like Mrs. Cheng indicated.” He stepped over to the proof their kidnappers were to be taken seriously. “Looks like two South Korean security personnel, the German Chancellor’s husband, and the Chinese translator.” His eyes narrowed as he noticed something else. “And get this.”

“What?”

“Looks like about half a dozen drones were taken out.”

“By who?”

Dawson examined the bodies, his eyes coming to rest on the hands of the Chinese woman, Daewoo DP-51 pistols still gripped tightly in her hands. “Looks like the translator. She’s holding two weapons and there’s shell casings around her body.” His head bobbed with respect. “Looks like she put up one hell of a fight. I’d run her again. I doubt she’s part of their consular staff.” His attention was suddenly drawn by the sight of one of the assault team trying to yank open the front door of the bus. “Control, stand by.” He stepped toward the bus, raising his voice. “Hey! Check that for explosives first! The witness said they were told the bus was rigged.”

The team lead spat a reprimand at the overzealous man, the rest of the team swarming the bus with mirrors to check the doors and undercarriage. An all-clear was given and the doors were forced open, the team surging inside, only to emerge moments later, heads shaking.

“It’s empty!” yelled one of them for their benefit.

Dawson activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One. The bus is empty. We need a description of the vehicle they transferred to.”

“We just got that. Some sort of semi-trailer.”

Spock’s eyebrow shot up as they exchanged surprised glances. “How’d you find that out? I thought the Chinese took our witness out of the country.”

“They tried but we were able to intercept her before she left.”

It was Dawson’s turn for some eyebrow action. “How’d you manage that?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Dawson chuckled. “Ahh, got ya. Now that you have a starting point, let’s hope you can find a truck a little bit quicker.”

“We’re already on it.”

“Copy that, Zero-One, out.”

He watched as a forensics team began to pick over the bus, Spock holding up one of the downed drones.

“What do you make of it?” asked Jagger as they all examined the heavily damaged device.

“Looks pretty basic to me except for that piece of hardware strapped to the top of it.” Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t recognize it. You guys?”

A string of negatives was the reply, a surprise considering among the four of them they knew pretty much every weapon in use today.

Dawson pointed at it. “Get images of that to Langley. It might be another lead.”

40

Incheon International Airport

Incheon, Republic of Korea

“No! They said I can’t leave the country!”

Cheng yanked her arm away from the man, a member of her husband’s security detail. She had hoped that after they woke from being tranquilized by the American—or who she assumed was an American—they’d be more amenable to listening to her.

She had been wrong.

Instead, her evacuation had taken on a greater urgency, she essentially carried from the SUV to the airplane awaiting takeoff, its engines already powered up.

“Ma’am, we have our orders. You must leave!”

She held her ground. “No! I won’t!” She gripped the railings of the steps leading into the aircraft, holding on as tightly as she could. “They’ll kill the others!”

“They aren’t our concern, you are,” said the man, prying her fingers loose. “The President has ordered us to evacuate you to Beijing immediately.”

Another security staffer ended a phone call. “Ma’am, your husband said to carry you if you don’t cooperate.”

Cheng glared at him for a moment before her shoulders collapsed in defeat. “Fine.” A moment of rage returned as she jabbed a finger at the man. “But their blood is on his hands, not mine!”

She climbed the stairs and was ushered into her seat by an impossibly thin flight attendant, normal circumstances perhaps causing her to feel a little self-conscious about her aging and thickening frame. But not today. The door shut and the plane immediately began to taxi, the pilot apparently given priority clearance for takeoff. Tears burned her cheeks as she stared out the window at the city that had caused so much terror, wondering where her fellow captives might be, and if they would survive their ordeal.

And why she had been singled out to live.

The engines whined and they began to accelerate down the runway, her body pressed into her seat. She eyed the wing just behind her, the rippling heat from the engines going almost unnoticed.

She wiped her eyes.

That poor little girl.

Her eyes narrowed as she spotted something through the tears. She swiped her sleeves across her eyes, decorum forgotten.

What’s that?

Ahead of them, at the end of the runway, something had risen from the grass. She pressed against the window, trying to make sense of what she was seeing as more small objects rose.

Then she gasped as she recognized the instruments of their tormentors.

Drones!

Dozens. Scores. Perhaps more, rose from the end of the runway, abruptly streaming toward them in long lines like a flock of birds, turning as one.

“Look!” she cried, pointing.

One of the security team looked to where she was pointing then leaped from his seat, charging toward the cockpit. An alarm sounded before he could reach it, the pilot evidently spotting the problem but too late, the wheels just having lifted off.

“Crash positions!” cried the waif attendant, rushing toward her. Cheng cinched her belt tight and leaned forward as the woman double-checked things before moving on. Cheng raised her head slightly so she could still watch out the window, the drones racing toward them.

What are they doing?

Four groups had split off from each other, two of the distinct lines disappearing from view as they repositioned to the other side of the aircraft, the other two racing toward them at incredible speed, speed she realized was actually their own, the drones simply sitting in midair, adjusting their position as if they were massive airborne millipedes.

And suddenly they were upon them.

She gasped as the first was sucked into their engine, the impact unnoticed, but as drone after drone were drawn in, smoke began to emerge from the rear.

Oh no!

A sudden ball of fire erupted from one of the engines and she screamed.

41

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Any serial numbers?”

Leroux peered at the close-ups of the drones sent to them by the Delta team, Spock dismantling one in the back of their SUV.

“Not on the weapon,” replied Spock. “They’ve been filed down as far as I can tell. Not sure where to look, though, I’ve never seen this type before.”

Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? I figured you guys would have seen pretty much anything out there.”

“Me too. None of us recognize it. I have a funny feeling that’s going to be your lead.”

“Any serial numbers on the drone?”

“Nothing I’ve seen yet.”

Tong pointed at the screen. “Is this it?”

Leroux examined an image from Alibaba, the Chinese based store-of-all-things. He stepped toward the screen, examining the sales photo and the image of one of the shot down drones. “Definitely looks like it.” He pointed at a set of red and blue striping along the sides. “Those I think match up pretty much perfectly.”

Tong’s fingers tapped at the keyboard and two isolated photos showing the stripes appeared, the computer then superimposing and adjusting them to match point of views.

They were perfect.

“Okay, get in touch with the manufacturer and find out where the serial numbers might be. We might get lucky and be able to trace who bought them.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Tong, working her terminal.

Child cleared his throat. “I’ve got those bandwidth estimates you asked for.”

Leroux turned toward Child. “And?”

“Zero chance it came through North Korea’s pipes.”

Leroux nodded. “Didn’t think so, though it still doesn’t rule them out. They’ve been known to use agents positioned in China and elsewhere to do their dirty work.”

Child leaned back in his chair. “They could have just used malware to hijack computers over time in prep for this, then sent out the video when they were ready.”

Leroux shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Why?”

“Well, the video showed the victims. That means it was created, or at least modified, just before they uploaded it.”

Child’s head bobbed. “Good point.”

“So what does that tell us?”

“That this was a coordinated job using dedicated technical resources to upload the videos.”

“Right, and as far as we can tell so far, no two uploads originated from the same IP address, though with spoofing, that doesn’t really mean much.”

Child sighed. “We’re going to have to dig a lot deeper to see if we can trace the origins.”

Leroux nodded. “Do it.”

42

Guro District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“All there?”

Atlas nodded, having just returned from inspecting the gear delivered by chopper from Osan Air Base. “We’re ready to start a war.”

Dawson grinned. “Good. I want to be ready for anything. If we get a lead, we’re not waiting for the locals to get their shit together. Start gearing up—”

An explosion in the distance cut him off and he spun toward the sound, a sound that from his experience indicated something big. A black and orange fireball tore its way into the sky to the west and he cursed. “What the hell is that?”

Everyone stopped what they were doing before a flurry of activity erupted, almost everyone on the Korean side reaching for comms, those inside the warehouse working on the bus rushing outside to see what had happened.

Dawson activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One. We’ve got a massive fireball to the west. We need to know what that is, over.”

“Copy that, Zero-One. Standby.”

Atlas shook his head, his deep voice echoing what they all felt. “I have a feeling things just escalated.”

43

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“What’s west of their position?”

Child’s fingers flew over the keyboard, a map of Seoul appearing, Delta’s current location displayed by a pulsing red dot. “A lot. We need to narrow it down.”

“Get me eyes on the city. Any camera that might show the skyline.”

More tapping and camera feeds began to appear in a grid, Leroux snapping his fingers. “Number six!” The image enlarged and they could clearly see a massive plume of smoke on the horizon, the thick black billowing eruption still fueled by something. “Where is that?”

“Definitely the airport,” replied Child, another camera angle appearing, the tails of jetliners visible, a huge fireball at the end of a runway occupying a portion of the frame.

“Christ!” Leroux snapped his fingers, their translator having already left to analyze the hostage video more closely. “Tap their ground feed and put me on comms.

“You’re on,” replied one of his team.

“One-One, this is Control Actual. Listen to this feed and tell us what’s being said.”

“Roger that, control,” replied Niner’s voice immediately. There was a pause as the shocked airport crew shouted orders to each other over their radios. “A plane has crashed.”

Leroux felt his chest tighten, Tong gasped. “What flight?”

Niner cursed. “It’s the plane carrying the Chinese President’s wife.”

“Jesus! Any indication yet what took it down?”

Another pause. “That can’t be right. Give me a second.” Leroux’s foot tapped as he waited for Niner to translate. “Shit! They’re saying dozens of drones were spotted entering the engines.”

Leroux’s eyes widened as his boss charged into the operations center. “I just got your—” He froze, his jaw dropping as he watched the security feed of the inferno, emergency vehicles racing toward the end of the runway, there no way in hell anyone had survived. “How?”

“Drones, sir. Apparently they were sent into the engines.”

Morrison dropped into a spare chair. “Is that even possible?”

Leroux sat in his own, shaking his head. “Evidently.”

Morrison sighed, clasping his hands behind his neck then abruptly leaning forward, slapping his hands on his knees. “Shit, I guess we know the Chinese aren’t involved.”

“Agreed,” said Leroux, a pit forming in his stomach. “And we also know they’re perfectly willing to kill the women as well.”

44

Crawford Residence

Forest Hills, Washington, DC

“Anything buried in the video?”

Jeff shook his head. “Nothing I’ve been able to find yet. Whoever did this was extremely careful, which is why I don’t think it’s North Korean.”

“Why?” asked Clarence.

“Because they wouldn’t care if you knew where it came from or how they produced it. The video admits to it, so if you want to take credit, why bother hiding the proof?”

Vic’s head bobbed in the chat window. “Makes sense. But hiding the transmission’s origin would be understandable since you don’t want your agents outside the country to be tracked.”

“True,” replied Clarence, “but hell, they could have set things up to transmit from anywhere in the world, or a thousand places in the world. They just program it to monitor a site and they pull the video down when it goes live then transmit it.”

Jeff’s eyes widened as he leaned back on his stool. “Dude, I think you figured it out!”

“I’m sure I did, I’m that good.” Clarence’s eyes narrowed. “What did I figure out?”

“We need to find the original site, the original source of the video.”

“Oh yeah, exactly. I’m brilliant.”

“If we find that, then we might just find out where this whole thing originated.”

“Okay, so we’ve established I’m brilliant. Now how are we going to find where they uploaded the original video to?”

“We just need to find one of the source computers and gain access. It might still have the software installed that pulled the video. If it does, we’ll be able to get the IP address and go from there!”

Vic spun in his chair, a bit of a Doppler Effect occurring. “Dude, that’s going to be nearly impossible if they’ve been spoofing things.”

Clarence shook his head. “No, dude, not impossible, you’re forgetting I’m brilliant. But it is going to take time.”

Jeff frowned. “And time is the one thing Nancy doesn’t have.” He leaned forward, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. “Let’s get to work.”

45

CIA Safe House

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Dylan, I’ve got some news on the Chinese President’s wife.”

Kane sipped his bottled water, the ice-cold beverage immediately helping chill his insides. He had started to feel a little queasy about half an hour ago and if the back of his hand on his forehead was any indication, he was running a temperature.

Just what I need. The flu!

He held the bottle against his forehead. “Nice lady. She was happy to cooperate and was actually a little pissed at not being given the opportunity. Has she been evac’d yet?”

“Umm, that’s why I’m calling.”

Kane stopped rolling the bottle over his forehead, the hesitation in Leroux’s voice suggesting something was wrong. “What is it? Is she okay?”

“It appears that drones took out her plane on takeoff.”

Kane bolted upright on the couch. “What!”

“Initial reports are that dozens of drones, perhaps over a hundred, were directed into all four engines. One caught fire and lit the fuel.”

Kane already knew the answer, yet had to ask. “Survivors?”

“None.”

“And we’re sure she was on board?”

“Yes.”

“My God! I guess now we know why she wasn’t just left behind when they switched vehicles.”

“Yeah. She was just a pawn. She was always going to die.”

Kane sighed, closing his eyes, picturing the earnest woman, eager to help the others in any way she could. She had told him about the orders not to leave the country.

I should have taken her.

He shook his head. He couldn’t blame himself. His mission had been to interrogate her at all costs, not save her life. And who could have predicted this? Drones taking down an airliner? Everyone in the security business knew it was technically possible. If bird strikes could take out a plane, drones certainly could. And with scares occurring around the world, it was just a matter of time before tragedy struck.

Like today.

“Does this give us anything?” He opened his eyes, leaning forward. “They could have left anyone, but they left her. Why her? Who hates the Chinese right now?”

“Everyone? No one? Most of the bad guys like them.”

Kane agreed. “Russia didn’t attend. Could they be involved?”

“They’re friendly with China now.”

“Right, another bad guy. What’s the thinking at Langley?”

“Everything is on the table now. We’re ruling out no one.”

Kane squeezed the bottle in frustration, the plastic crackling loudly. “We need to find out who the hell is behind this! Do we even know if there are any actual human beings involved in this damned thing?”

“Just the phone call to the President.”

Kane growled in frustration. “Christ, for all we know that was that Watson machine from Jeopardy.” He took a deep breath. “How can I help?”

“We need you to find the source of the drones. The South Koreans believe they came in on a shipping container yesterday. They’ve traced the ship to Yantai, China, but we need to know where the shipment actually originated.”

“Okay, send me everything you’ve got. I know someone who’s perfect for the job.”

46

Unknown Location

Republic of Korea

“What’s that?”

Nancy looked about, at what, she didn’t know, the back of the box van featureless save the camera, speaker, and two drones sitting on the floor near the door. “I think we’re inside a building?” It was a question rather than a statement, the changed sound of the engine the only evidence she had.

They came to a halt and she felt the Italian woman grab her hand, squeezing it tight. The drones suddenly activated, rising several feet.

“Miss Starling, please open the rear door and exit the vehicle. Follow the directions on the ground.”

Nancy quickly inhaled then rose. The drones moved out of her way and she bent over, twisting the handle near the floor. She yanked and the door rose with a clatter, revealing what appeared to be another warehouse, this one rather well lit, skylights flooding the structure with the midday sun.

And then there were the drones.

Dozens of them hovering within sight. She took a final glance at the others then hopped down. Arrows on the floor marked a path to her right. She followed them, her eyes glued to each arrow, terrified to leave the path, unsure of how forgiving the drones would be should she stumble. She glanced up as she approached a wall, perhaps ten feet high, it far short of the ceiling towering overhead. She noticed a door, the arrows leading to it, a standard knob its only feature.

What do I do?

Her choice seemed clear.

She turned it, pushing open the door.

And gasped.

Behind the door was a room that could be mistaken for a large loft living room. Half a dozen couches surrounded an oversized glass table, and as she stepped further inside, she noticed several fridges and freezers along one wall. A series of tables held a substantial supply of water bottles and dried goods, as well as a couple of microwaves. To the right were two portable toilets.

Everything a dozen hostages would need to take care of themselves.

She frowned.

For the long term.

When will this be over?

47

Embassy of the United States Seoul

32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Do you think they know I’m still in Seoul?”

Starling sat back as the teleconference with the other world leaders ended, the only person he trusted at the moment, the only man who knew the truth, Red, standing outside of camera shot.

“If they do, they’re certainly not letting on. Everyone used secure comms, so we can’t even say for certain if they are where they say they are.”

Starling chuckled. “Good point.” He sighed. “I met Mrs. Cheng several times. Very nice lady. Very formal, very reserved, as you’d expect, but Melanie said when the cameras were off and they were alone, she was a delight. Good sense of humor and surprisingly well-versed in Western culture.” He stared at a photo his staff had brought to the office of his once happy—and complete—family. He felt his eyes begin to burn. “Is this a message?”

“Sir?”

“Killing her, was this a message to me that if I don’t cooperate, more will die?”

“I think she was always meant to die, sir.”

“How can we be certain?”

“We wondered why they didn’t just leave her with the bus, and now we know. She had to be found. If they left her in the warehouse, we might never have. Leave her on the side of the road, she can be found and evacuated.”

Starling nodded, the explanation making sense. “But how would they know that they’d evacuate her?”

“Standard protocol for the Chinese. There was a threat in Indonesia last year and President Cheng had his wife evacuated immediately while he stayed behind to finish his business. Whoever is behind this knew that he’d do the same this time.”

Starling shook his head. “Whoever he is, he’s a madman, and like an idiot, I spewed the corporate line. We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Sir, I don’t think they ever expected you to cooperate immediately. There’s no way they’d just hang up and not call back. They’ve planned way too hard for this, invested too many resources, to let negotiations break down so quickly.”

“So it is a message.”

“Yes, sir, I think it is, and it’s one that was always meant to be delivered. They knew you’d resist whatever they were going to demand of you.”

Starling frowned, leaning back in his chair. “I guess the question now is what to do about it.”

“We delay as long as we can. The more time we can buy, the more time we have to find your daughter and the others.”

Starling waved a hand at the monitors showing troop movements. “I don’t think the world has much more time. There’s so much firepower steaming and flying into this region, we’re turning what was already a powder keg into a damned explosives factory or some metaphor a hell of a lot better than that!” He threw up his hands in frustration. “This is ridiculous! Why don’t they call? If we don’t hear back soon, I’ll have to inform the other leaders what’s going on so they can stand down their forces.”

“We still have time, sir.”

“Yes, but how much? Look what just happened in the Kuril Islands between the Russians and Japanese. All it takes is one shot, and this city will never be the same. The world may never be the same.”

“We have to believe that if these people are environmentalists, they wouldn’t want that.”

Starling shook his head. “I’m having my doubts as to whether or not they are what they say they are.” He sighed. “Hell, I’m having my doubts as to whether or not they is actually a they at all. For all we know it is a damned fourteen-year-old boy in his mom’s basement in Texas.” He glanced at the screens, the Seventh Fleet getting close. “Order our ships to slow down, that might buy us some time.”

“We can’t, sir. It could be interpreted by the hostage takers as a violation of their terms.”

He closed his eyes, nodding slowly. The operator was right. And Starling wasn’t thinking straight. The jetlag combined with the long hours of meetings had left him ill-prepared for this situation.

And he was making mistakes.

Mistakes that could cost him the last thing he loved in this world.

He looked at Red. “They’re forcing me into an impossible choice. War or my daughter’s life.”

Red agreed. “That might be why they haven’t called back yet.”

“Why? They want war?”

“Perhaps. More likely, they want to build the tensions with North Korea to the point where you can’t refuse any of their demands. My prediction is that when they call back, they’ll want their demands, whatever they are, met completely and quickly, and you’ll be inclined to agree so you can stand down our forces and de-escalate the situation.”

Starling nodded, thankful someone was thinking straight. “Let’s hope that whatever their demands are, they’re ones I can actually agree to.” He stared out the window at the city of millions, their lives in so many hands other than their own, oblivious to how close they could be to annihilation.

Please call back!

48

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Sir, we’ve identified the weapon.”

Leroux turned to Tong. “What is it?”

“It’s a Riker WX .40 caliber pistol.”

Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Never heard of it.”

Tong motioned toward the displays, images of the weapon appearing. It looked to be a standard semiautomatic handgun, though the grip seemed slightly different. “Not surprising. It was a prototype weapon under development by Riker Defensive Systems. The Secret Service was the potential initial buyer. The grip can read the user’s palm print, which isn’t anything new, but this one also had the ability to be remotely deactivated in the event an agent went rogue like when President Bridges was assassinated. With this design, the thinking was that a signal could be sent to disable a single weapon or all of them in an emergency situation.”

A burst of air erupted from Child’s station. “Christ, I can see problems with that!”

Tong agreed. “Apparently the Secret Service thought so too. They were about to take delivery on several thousand of them when it was discovered the test results had been faked. Apparently the electronic triggers were hackable so the entire program was put on the backburner.”

“Huh. Electronic trigger? I guess that’s why they’re being used on the drones.” Leroux stepped toward the screen, side-by-side photos displayed of the prototype weapon, along with the weapon taken from one of the drones. There was no doubt they were the identical gun. “So the backburner is apparently drones in South Korea.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the only place they showed up.”

Leroux turned to Tong. “Where else?”

“The Ukraine.”

“What?”

“Apparently hundreds of them started showing up on the black market. Riker’s headquarters were raided and they found the records showing the destruction of the prototypes were actually faked. The President issued an order terminating all contracts with Riker. It bankrupted them.”

Leroux eased into his seat, still staring at the weapon. “How many are we dealing with?”

“The initial production run was two thousand weapons.”

“Huh.” He looked at the others, a slight smile breaking out. “Is anyone else smelling what I’m smelling?”

Child spun in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “You mean motive?”

“Yup.”

49

Gangnam District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Do we know if he’s in there?”

Kim nodded. “We’ve got a single heat signature on the top floor. It looks like we might get lucky.”

Niner wasn’t so sure. If this person was involved, the level of sophistication shown so far suggested they might not be going up against just one enemy. Certainly a single human, but how many drones might be protecting him?

Yet he wasn’t in charge. This was a South Korean operation, Kim was the lead, and they seemed eager to resolve the situation as quickly as possible, even if it meant taking risks with only a team of four.

“Perhaps we should wait for backup. I can call in some of my guys.”

She shook her head. “No time. And it’s not necessary. He’s just one man. We can handle it.”

“Then at least let us join you.”

She eyed him for a moment. “Very well.” She quickly strode away as the last of the other residents of the three-story apartment building evacuated.

Niner shook his head, appreciating her departure. “Man, I’d fight her on this if she wasn’t so damned hot.”

“Huh? You think she’s hot?”

Niner stared at Jimmy. “What, you don’t?”

“Well, yeah, of course I do, but I thought you were gay.”

Niner’s head dropped, his eyes staring up in shock at his best friend. “What! What the hell made you think that?”

Jimmy shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe the fact you’re always slappin’ and grabbin’ asses, commenting on everyone’s Johnson, and telling Atlas how sexy he is.”

Niner stared at his friend in horror. “Does everyone think this?”

Another shrug. “Probably.”

“Jesus! I think I’m going to have to have a serious discussion with you painfully misinformed bastards when we get back.”

Jimmy grinned. “Atlas will just say you’re in denial.”

“Un-huh. Well, I like the ladies, not the laddies.” He dropped his voice, giving his best Seinfeld impression. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Huh, I always pictured you as more of a Kramer.”

Niner frowned. “And I pictured you as more of an Elaine.”

“See, there’s that whole gender identity confusion again.”

“Oy! I can’t win.”

“Now you’re Jewish?”

“How many Korean Jews do you know?”

“None until right now.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Jimmy grinned. “Immensely.”

“So that whole thinking I was gay thing was just a joke?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Oh no, we all think you’re gay, but I don’t think anyone believes you’re Jewish.”

“I’m neither.”

Jimmy shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to take your word for it.”

“You better.” Niner reached over and squeezed Jimmy’s ass. “But if I was gay, you’d be the first I’d try to tap.”

Jimmy swatted Niner’s lingering hand away. “And you wonder why there’s confusion.” He nodded toward Kim. “You should be grabbing her ass.”

“She won’t let me.”

“But I will?”

“You just did.” Niner regarded Jimmy. “Huh. Maybe you’re the one who’s gay.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Here we go. I wonder if Charlie Team has an opening.”

“Hell, if you really want to avoid me, join the SEALs. Then we’ll never see each other.”

Jimmy shook his head emphatically. “No way, can’t stand the wa—”

Niner cut him off, nodding toward Kim who was waving them over. “Looks like we’re on.” The team of four were already inside, two on either end of the third floor. Outside all that would remain were two unarmed, uniformed officers providing crowd control.

Not enough personnel for the job, as far as he was concerned.

Inside or out.

“We’re ready,” said Kim. “Do you still want to participate?”

“Absolutely.”

“Very well.” Kim entered the building, sprinting up the three flights of stairs, an impressed Niner racing to keep up. Reaching the third floor, two of the assault team greeted them.

“We’re ready. No indication he knows we’re here.”

“Good. Proceed.”

The man activated his comm and all four rushed forward. Niner was about to follow when Kim held out her arm, blocking him. “Let them do their job. We’ll cover the hall.”

Niner frowned but agreed as one of the men swung a battering ram against the door, it splintering open. All four surged in, shouting orders to get down when a shot fired.

Followed by a lot more.

Niner pushed Kim aside and sprinted toward the door as one of the assault team fell into the hallway, crawling backward for a moment before collapsing, unmoving. Niner could hear Jimmy on his heels as he readied his MP5, thankfully a shipment from Osan Air Base reaching them while they were at the Shinhan Motors plant. The gunfire continued, automatic weapons against semiautomatic, probably .40 caliber pistols, as he reached the door, swinging around the frame in a crouch.

The gunfire stopped.

He spotted a man sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, a laptop on a small table in front of him, the rest of the security team dead at his feet.

Then he saw the drones.

Niner spun back out into the hallway as they opened fire, pressing his back against the wall as he held an arm out, blocking Jimmy and Kim. “Drones! Aim high!” He turned, stepping back to get an angle then leaned quickly to his right, his weapon raised. He jerked back. “At least half a dozen.” He leaned over slightly, getting a bead on the edge of one of the drones.

He squeezed the trigger.

It dropped, a steady stream of gunfire the response.

He jerked back.

“Look out!”

Niner spun around at Kim’s warning and dropped to a knee, aiming high and firing on full auto as a dozen drones swarmed toward them down the hallway. Two dropped immediately yet it was too late, Jimmy taking several hits, falling backward and smacking his head against the wall, out cold.

A look of horror on Kim’s face was followed by her hands slowly rising. Niner continued to fire, stealing a quick glance behind him before he stopped. Another set of drones was hovering, holding their fire.

A voice suddenly came from one of the drones. “Welcome to the party. Drop your weapons, or you die.”

Kim glanced at Niner, speaking in Korean, the voice on the drone English. “What do we do?”

“We do what he says.” Niner lowered his weapon, placing it on the floor, Kim doing the same.

“All of your weapons.”

Niner frowned, complying, a few moments later the floor littered with over a dozen ballistic, blunt force, and cutting weapons. “Can I check on my partner?”

“Yes.”

He knelt down and examined Jimmy for wounds, instead only finding several shots to his vest that didn’t penetrate. He checked and there was a strong pulse.

Thank God!

He looked up at Kim. “He’s just knocked out. He’ll be fine.”

“It’s time we went for a ride.”

50

Li’s Photo

Beijing, China

“How’s the wife?”

Chan Chao glanced at his wife Bing through the narrow doorway, she standing behind the counter of their photo shop, Kane an occasional visitor when he needed something from someone not friendly with the current regime. “Annoying as always.”

“I heard that!”

“Of course you did. You’re always here, in my space!”

Kane chuckled. “I can feel the love.”

“Never get married, my friend. At least not to a hateful woman like her.”

Bing’s retort was swift. “Maybe if you knew how to make love like Dylan, I wouldn’t be so cranky!”

“Did you hear that?”

“Yup. Want some pointers?”

“I’ve been doing it since before you were born. If I haven’t figured it out yet, I’m never going to.” Chan laughed.

“Maybe I’ll trade you in for a younger model!”

“Woman, no younger model would touch you let alone put up with your bickering.”

“Then why don’t you leave?”

He shrugged. “I must be an idiot.”

“My father’s dead. He’s no longer going to kill you if you go.”

He turned in his chair to face her. “He’s dead?”

“You old fool, you know he’s dead! You went to his funeral.”

“I thought I was dreaming about my own blessed funeral.”

“If you keep talking back to me it will be your funeral!”

He turned back to face his cubbyhole of a desk. “Don’t make promises you aren’t going to keep.”

A knife embedded itself in the wall, two feet from his head.

An exfiltration might be in order.

“Dylan, I might need an exfil soon. She just threw a knife at me.”

“Did she hit you?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “No.”

“Then she didn’t mean to.”

Chan laughed. “You’re right. I think she secretly loves me.”

“No, you’re the one that loves me.” Bing stepped into the tiny office and pulled the knife from the wall. “You treat me with respect, or next time Dylan’s here, I’ll jiggy-jiggy with him.” She leaned into the phone. “Okay, Dylan?”

Kane laughed. “Umm, I’m not getting involved in this.”

“What’d he say?”

Chan covered the mouthpiece. “He said sure, he’d love to.”

She beamed at him. “See, young men still find me attractive.”

“Woman, you’re so short, young men use you as a stepstool to get a better view of something they actually want.”

She frowned, a hint of hurt in her eyes.

Uh oh, gone too far.

She turned to leave, uncharacteristically quiet, and he reached out, grabbing her arm. She glared at him, her eyes glistening. “You know why I married you?” he asked gently.

“Why?”

“Because you were, and still are, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She frowned, though her eyes smiled. “You never get out of the shop,” she murmured. “How would you know what beautiful is anymore?”

He smiled at her. “I’m blind to anything that isn’t the woman I love.”

That worked.

She beamed, patting him on the hand still holding her arm. “Okay, you get some tonight.”

He grinned and she left the room.

“Didn’t know you were such a smooth talker.”

Chan laughed, returning to his conversation with Kane. “It’s not smooth if it’s true.”

“Must be love.”

“Must be. Did you get the upload yet?”

“Yeah, it just arrived during your marital crisis. Give me the executive summary.”

Chan leaned forward, skimming through his notes. “The order for the drones was received three months ago, payment wired into their account, but get this, there were specific delivery instructions that were a little unusual.”

“In what way?”

“The container was supposed to arrive no later than yesterday, then not be delivered until today, even if it arrived early.”

“Any reason given?”

“None that they knew. Just that it had to be there no later than yesterday, and not to deliver it to the bakery until this morning. And it had to be first thing in the morning, no late morning or afternoon delivery.”

“Who placed the order?”

“Some shell corporation set up in South Korea. I’ve talked to my contacts there and it looks like it’s just a numbered company set up three months ago. One bank account, two transactions. A deposit then the transfer to pay for the drones.”

“Address?”

“The bakery.”

Kane grunted. “Of course. We need to figure out why the delayed delivery.”

“Maybe they didn’t want to risk it being late? Having it arrive early is always better than late. They were on a schedule.”

Bing appeared in the doorway. “You two geniuses couldn’t figure your way out of a plastic bag.”

He looked at her, mock annoyance on his face. “What now, woman?”

“It’s obvious why they needed the extra time.”

“Why, oh wise one?”

“They had to weaponize the drones. They don’t come from the factory with guns!”

Chan’s eyes widened. “I think she’s right.”

“Of course I’m right.” Bing returned to her perch behind the counter, pleased with herself.

I’ll never hear the end of that one.

“You’ve got a wise woman there.”

Chan frowned. “And she knows it.”

“I’ve seen the photos of the downed drones. There’s no way a machine put those guns on them unless they had already configured an assembly line to do it. A human being had to be involved, and judging by the number of drones and the timeframe, I’m thinking a good number of hands were needed.” Kane paused then cursed.

“What?”

“Just thought of something. How did they ship them?”

Chan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, these things flew out of the back of the container. Weren’t they shipped in boxes?”

Chan’s eyes widened as he realized what Kane was getting at. He checked the paperwork and nodded. “Yes, pallets of fifty.”

“Well, I saw the photos of the container and there were no boxes inside. That means somebody unpacked the drones, weaponized them, then staged the container.”

“If that’s the case, why wouldn’t they just release them at the container yard?”

“Huh, that’s right, why wouldn’t they?” Kane paused. “If they did, then nobody would have known they were ever released, not that it would have made much of a difference, I guess.”

Chan shook his head. “But it could have. Those drones had to deploy and remain hidden for hours, during heightened security. They’d have been better off leaving the container somewhere isolated then launch them just before they needed them. There’s no reason to send the container to the bakery.”

“What’s the one thing you can be guaranteed of when you send a package marked perishable to someone with their name on it?”

Chan shrugged. “They’ll open it?”

“Exactly.”

Chan’s jaw dropped. “They needed someone to open the container to let them out.”

“Right. But if they weaponized them in South Korea after they arrived, then they already had someone there to open it.”

“So—”

“So, you two are still stupid,” interrupted Bing, her ear pressed to the extension phone. “You were meant to think they were weaponized over there.”

Chan stared at her. “What do you mean stupid? It was your idea!”

“That’s not the way I remember it. It’s obvious. They weaponized them here. Probably at the factory!”

51

Gangnam District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Jimmy flinched, suddenly awake. His head pounded and his ribs protested as he heaved in a breath. He looked about, wondering what had happened for a moment before reality rushed back and he leaped to his feet, his body protesting the exertion. He scanned both ends of the hallway with his MP5 at the ready.

He was alone.

Save the bodies of the South Korean assault team.

And only the assault team.

He breathed a sigh of relief at not finding Niner or the Korean lady, Kim, dead along with them.

But where the hell are they?

Somebody moaned in the apartment, its door still ajar.

Jimmy reached for his comm to find it wasn’t there.

Shit!

A sob.

He raised his MP5 and approached the apartment, quickly leaning into the doorway to see what was inside.

No drones this time.

He stepped through the door, clearing the room from left to right, the only occupant sitting in a chair behind a table, a laptop sitting in front of him, a bottle of water beside it.

Jimmy sniffed then winced.

It stank.

He glanced over at the kitchen of the small bachelor apartment piled with dishes and takeout boxes, it clear the man who apparently lived here had let his household chores lapse.

“Do you speak English?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Where’s my partner?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Jimmy raised his weapon, aiming it at the man’s head. “Tell me or you’re dead.”

“I don’t know! I swear! I heard the drones order them to drop their weapons then leave the building. I swear that’s all I know!”

“Where are the hostages?”

The man’s eyes widened. “Hostages? I don’t know anything about that. They just tell me what to do.”

“Who’re they?”

He shrugged. “I receive instructions by email. They said they’d kill my family if I didn’t cooperate.”

Jimmy relaxed slightly, this man perhaps a victim as well. “Any idea who they are?”

The clearly terrified man shook his head. “None.”

Jimmy lowered his weapon—a touch. “You never met them?”

He shook his head. “No. Everything’s done by computer.”

“What have they had you do?”

“Lots of things. First, I had to plant a virus on the vehicles for the G20, then they had me sending messages.”

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of messages?”

“Hiring people to do things. Little things.” The man paused, his eyes widening slightly, excited. “I don’t think they speak Korean!”

That would kinda confirm North Korea isn’t involved.

A siren wailed outside, tires screeching. Jimmy went to the window to see a police car arriving, its two occupants jumping out, batons drawn. The officers conducting crowd control earlier lay dead on the street, none of the residents visible, the street deserted.

A buzzing sound behind him had him leap to the side, diving behind a couch as gunfire erupted from the doorway. He rolled, ending up on a knee, his MP5 belching lead at a lone drone hovering ten feet away. It disintegrated into dozens of pieces, dropping to the floor with a clatter. Jumping to his feet, Jimmy surged forward, listening for the distinctive hum of the drone’s blades, hearing nothing.

The hallway was clear again.

He kicked the carcass of fried tech into the hallway and closed the door, locking it before turning to the man he was now certain was simply another victim in this situation.

And cursed.

Blood oozed from several chest wounds, he the clear target of the drone.

Jimmy checked for a pulse and found none.

There goes our only witness.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, quickly dialing Dawson.

“This is One-Zero. We’ve got a situation here.”

52

Unknown Location

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Niner sat in silence, the sound of a drone behind him enough to keep him obeying the disembodied voice of whoever was in control, he having serious doubts the man inside the apartment was anyone but a patsy. Their suspect had done nothing but sob when Niner, under orders, stripped the unconscious Jimmy of his comm gear and retrieved a set of car keys along with two plastic shopping bags from inside the apartment. Drones then led them out of the building, the sound of gunfire outside suggesting the worst.

And the worst had been confirmed, the police officers performing crowd control lying in pools of their own blood, the screams of the panicked crowds fading into the distance.

A vehicle, the same type as had been used by the security team accompanying the automated bus, responded to the key fob.

Must have been purchased when he worked at the factory.

“Open the rear door.”

He complied and two drones floated inside, hovering in the backseat.

“Close the door then both of you get in the front.”

He opened the driver side door and climbed in, Kim rounding the car, two drones following her. She sat inside and closed her door, Niner pulling his own shut.

“Start the car.”

Niner slid the fob into the dash, placing his foot on the brake. He pushed the Start button and the car engine roared to life.

“Remove your foot from the brake and put the bags over your heads.”

Niner frowned, handing one of the bags to Kim as he lifted his foot. “I guess that explains what these are for.” He slipped it over his head, Kim doing the same, and the car immediately began to move, it disconcerting at first not to be in control. As a passenger trying to catch a few zees, he never had a problem, a competent driver he trusted always at the wheel. But in this case, it might as well have been Short Round from The Temple of Doom driving with wood boxes strapped to his feet.

He felt completely at the mercy of either a computer programmed with a destination, or a human driving by wire somewhere else in the world.

Kim’s breathing in the bag was rapid, it clear she wasn’t as calm as he was, she not trained to keep things under control mentally in situations like this. He was managing his breathing, it an effort so ingrained after years of training and combat, it had become second nature.

But she wasn’t trained.

He reached over blindly and found her arm. He squeezed it gently. Her arm jerked and he began to pull away, assuming the gesture of comfort was unwelcome, when she instead grabbed his hand and gripped it tightly.

His chest fluttered, butterflies in his stomach.

“One hell of a first date, huh?”

He heard the plastic bag rustle as she probably turned her head. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I make jokes. It’s my thing.”

“Oh, umm, then yes. Great first date.”

Niner smiled. “I guess you haven’t been on a lot of dates then.”

“N-no, not really. Korean men don’t like it when their women have more power than them.”

“They don’t like knowing you can kick their ass if they get out of line?”

Kim giggled, still holding his hand, the grip easing somewhat as her breathing slowed. “I guess not.”

“In America, it’s the same for some guys.”

“A-and you?”

The question had him turn toward her slightly, the car’s mind-of-its-own driving forgotten. “Not at all. I’d love to date a woman who could put me in my place.”

“America sounds nice.”

“It is.”

She sighed. “I hope your friend is okay.”

His mind flashed to Jimmy, lying unconscious on the floor of the hallway.

He must be awake by now.

“He’ll be all right. Might have some cracked ribs and a bump on the noggin’, but he’ll be okay.”

“Noggin’?”

“Noggin’, as in noodle, melon, chrome dome, brain trap, bobble—”

“Oh, head. Okay, I understand. They don’t teach American slang in school or at the academy.”

“Yeah, well your English is excellent.”

“Thank you. And so is your Korean.”

It was then that Niner realized they were talking in English, perhaps not a wise choice since whoever was speaking through the drones definitely understood it, though perhaps not Korean. He switched. “It got rusty but when I joined the military they encourage you to learn languages, so I started practicing. Mostly just making my folks speak Korean when I visited or talked to them on the phone.” He shrugged. “It came back pretty quickly.”

The car began to slow then came to a stop.

“Do you think we’re here?”

He turned his head to look, uselessly. “Yeah, wherever here is.”

53

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“It’s definitely a theory, but we need proof.”

“Yeah, but what kind of proof?” asked Leroux, the reasoning pretty sound behind Kane’s theory, yet probably not enough for Washington.

“Proof. A proof is a proof. When we’ve got a good proof, it’s proven.”

Leroux chuckled. “What the hell did you just say?”

Kane groaned. “Sorry, I’ve been speaking Chinese for most of the past hour. If the factory in China did weaponize them, then they somehow got their hands on these weapons that were supposed to have been destroyed.”

Leroux nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Could they have manufactured them on their own?”

Kane grunted. “Possible, I guess. Even so, they’d have to have access to the exact plans.”

“I don’t think that’s what happened,” interjected Child, a photo of one of the weapons found on a downed drone expanding on the display. He highlighted the Riker company name stamped on the grip. “Why would they do that if they were making their own?”

“Do what?” asked Kane, not privy to the visuals.

Leroux filled him in. “The Riker name is molded into the grip. They wouldn’t do that if they were making a clone. We need to find out how they got those weapons.”

“Can you contact Riker? They should be able to tell us.”

Leroux shook his head. “They’re bankrupt. We’ve got a call in with their lawyers but haven’t heard back yet.”

“Well, if I were a hotshot analyst, I’d be trying to figure out if there’s any connection between the drone manufacturer and Riker Defensive Systems. We know these weapons made it into the Ukraine, so it’s conceivable they also made it to China. We need to lean on their CEO and figure out what happened to those weapons.”

Leroux smiled. “Well, my hotshot analysts have thought of that. What we do know is that the founder, Grant Riker, faked the paperwork—they were never destroyed. It was kept quiet by Washington because nobody wanted the public to know there were hundreds of hi-tech prototype handguns suddenly on the black market.”

Kane grunted. “Well, something tells me their secret will be out when the dust settles. Okay, you keep looking into a link from your end, I’m going to keep plugging away here.”

“What’s your plan?”

“You don’t want to know.”

54

Unknown Location

Republic of Korea

“Remove the bags and slowly exit the vehicle.”

Niner yanked the plastic bag that reeked of week old takeout off his face and gasped in several lungsful of fresh air, Kim doing the same beside him. He gave her hand a squeeze, she giving him a shy smile. The sound of the drones rising from their resting places on the backseat spurred him to open the door a little quicker than he’d like, his eyes already taking in the scene.

They were in some sort of warehouse, fairly large, and once again, no one in sight. Dozens of drones hovered nearby, a corridor formed leading to a set of arrows on the floor that ended at a door, a wall perhaps ten feet tall stretching most of the width of the warehouse, though nowhere near the height.

Kim rounded the front of the car and he took her hand, cautiously threading the gap between the drones toward the arrows, carefully scanning the area. To the right there were dozens of drones resting on pads of some sort, the pads plugged into an array of wall sockets.

Charging pads?

It made sense. The drones needed power, and if there was no one around to plug them in, then they would need some sort of wireless transfer of energy. It essentially meant the drones could operate indefinitely, using this as a home base.

There was only one problem with the scenario.

Somebody had to set it up.

Somebody inside Korea.

It could have been the terrified man at the apartment, he the only human beyond the voice they had heard on the drone, and the person who had called the President—two voices that probably belonged to the same person.

What he saw could be the work of one man. Rent a warehouse. Put down some charging pads and some arrows. It was the wall in front of him with the lone door that gave him doubts.

It didn’t fit.

It shouldn’t be here. If his gut was telling him the truth, the structure in front of them was purpose-built for this situation, and there was no way one man could do this, especially one man who was a tech-geek on cars.

This required trade skills.

He reached the door, the drones covering any escape routes.

“I guess we go inside.”

He put his hand on the knob and turned it, pushing the door open slowly. He peered inside and his eyebrows rose as he saw what appeared to be a large seating area, a number of couches surrounding a table.

Couches occupied by the hostages.

Suddenly one bounded toward him. “Niner!”

And he breathed a sigh of relief.

Nancy Starling.

Alive.

55

Seodaemun District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Dawson stepped out of the vehicle, quickly surveying the scene. A rig parked on a side road swarmed with Korean personnel, weapons raised as they covered it and the surrounding area. Once again there was no driver, it another self-driving prototype from Shinhan Motors reported stolen two days ago—it had apparently just driven off the lot along with another, smaller truck, the security gate overridden somehow, allowing them to pass.

All things that would have raised red flags had they been reported to him.

And according to their liaison, the trucks were both custom orders with some unusual requests, requests he had no doubt were made by those behind what was going on here today—remote controlled rear gates, sliding floor panels, cameras and speakers mounted in the rear cargo areas as well as the undercarriage.

The more they learned, the more he realized just how long this had been in the works, and just how well-funded and well-planned it was.

Jimmy had reported their lone witness was dead, shot by drones, drones that had somehow kidnapped Niner and their liaison, Senior Inspector Kim. The latest briefing from Langley, while they were driving to this new location, indicated they might have found who had manufactured the drones and weaponized them, though they couldn’t be certain. If there was a way to figure it out, and figure it out fast, Kane was the right man for the job.

Kane had been part of Bravo Team years ago before joining the CIA. The Special Forces were prime recruiting grounds for the Agency, and they had approached Dawson on numerous occasions. But he wasn’t interested. It didn’t suit his personality. You had to be a loner, and he enjoyed the comradery of the Unit far too much for that.

Kane, however, had always been a loner.

It had been a good fit.

He watched as the rear locking mechanism was blown, the blast followed by screams from inside. Female screams. His heart leaped and he exchanged an excited glance with Atlas as they both battled the urge to rush into the mix. The rear gate slammed to the ground and the assault team surged forward, weapons aimed at the back of the truck.

Shouts from the team lead had weapons lowering quickly, the beckoning arms of some of the officers suddenly filled with well-dressed women leaning into the sunlight as they accepted the welcoming arms of their saviors.

Dawson activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One. Standby, we might have recovered the hostages, over.” He scanned the faces, recognizing them all as support staff, all of whom had files he had personally vetted.

But no VIPs.

No Nancy Starling.

He walked over to the Canadian Prime Minister’s wife’s aide, someone he could be certain spoke English. “Where are the VIPs?”

She shook her head, clearly rattled though relieved. “Sorry, I don’t know. They took them.”

“Where?”

She pointed at the truck. “There’s a panel in the floor. It opened and then they ordered Nancy to climb down first, into the sewer I think, then the rest of them, one by one.”

He motioned to Atlas. “Check it out.”

Atlas leaped in the back, examining the floor then bending down, yanking something aside. He dropped to his knees, his head disappearing for a moment before rising. “There’s an opening here that leads to a manhole.”

Dawson’s eyebrows rose. “Like a sewer?”

Atlas hopped back down to the pavement, several Korean officers dropping through the newly discovered opening. “Could be. Doesn’t smell as bad as all that, though.”

Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “And you could see the hole? No manhole cover?”

Atlas shook his head. “Nope. It’s been removed.”

Dawson looked about. “Then where is it?”

Atlas grunted, joining in the search. “Dunno.”

“Well, somebody had to remove it.” That meant they had another potential witness, or perhaps finally an actual perpetrator. For all they knew at this point, they could be dealing with one lone nut, or a hundred well-organized and funded eco-terrorists. They needed more intel. More human intel.

It was frustrating not having a target to shoot.

He turned to the woman. “Did you see anyone?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, no. Never. Just those cursed drones. They ordered the others through the floor then told us to wait quietly, otherwise the truck would blow up.”

“How long ago?”

She shrugged. “Sorry, not really sure. In all the excitement, I never thought to check my watch. An hour maybe?”

“Okay, thank you.” He motioned toward a row of ambulances that were arriving, the others rescued led away by paramedics. “Go with them, they’ll help you.”

She nodded, then paused. “You’re American?”

“Yes.”

“Tell your President that his daughter was okay when I last saw her, and that she was an extremely brave young woman.”

Dawson bowed slightly. “He’ll be happy to hear that, I’m sure.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Thank you.” She turned and joined the others as another half-dozen officers disappeared through the opening in the floor and into the sewers, a search evidently underway, a search Dawson had little doubt would turn up nothing.

This was the final switch.

There were no cameras underground. They could have been led anywhere, any distance. And this op had been so well planned, he had no doubt wherever they came out, would have been somewhere the perps had determined couldn’t be monitored.

The hostages were gone.

Without a trace.

As he watched the Korean authorities do their job, he stared at the smoke still filling the horizon from the downed airliner with Mrs. Cheng on board. All of their witnesses were dead, and they had yet to see evidence of anyone actually involved, in-country. The vehicles had been hacked, with instructions and threats delivered via email. The drones had been weaponized most likely in China then shipped here, only to be opened innocently by curious bakery workers concerned about perishable goods. The transfer vehicle, this semi, was automated and custom-built for the purpose—by the manufacturer.

So far, there had been no need for their adversary even to set foot on this side of the globe, let alone the city.

Except for the manhole cover.

A sudden burst of excitement over the radios had several of the senior on-site personnel rushing toward the truck.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, grabbing one of them.

“They found something!”

Dawson pointed at Jagger and Spock. “You two stay here, Atlas you’re with me.” He leaped into the back of the truck, Atlas on his heels, pushing the others aside. He dropped into the hole, sliding down the ladder, hitting the sewer floor with a splash.

“Which way?”

An officer standing at the bottom of the ladder pointed and he and Atlas sprinted through the tunnel, the rest of the South Koreans hot on their heels. An officer guided them through a three-way split in the tunnel and they soon arrived to find two more standing at the bottom of another access point.

“What did you find?”

One of them held up a gold chain, a small, plain cross dangling from it.

“That’s hers.” He recognized it from their time in the jungle and from her file photos. “Where did you find it?”

The man pointed at a narrow walkway. “It was sitting there.”

Dawson smiled slightly at Atlas. “Do you think she left it there?”

Atlas nodded. “Drones don’t rip necklaces off little girls.”

Dawson grabbed the rungs and quickly rushed up the ladder, a manhole cover blocking his way.

If they went out here, then someone replaced it.

For a moment, he had his doubts. If the necklace had fallen off for some innocent reason, this might not be where they exited the tunnels—they could have gone anywhere. All they knew for certain was they had reached this point. The manhole cover hadn’t been replaced at their entry point, but then, it didn’t need to be. The truck had been left to cover it, there no risk of it drawing attention.

Yet here, if this was the exit point, and another vehicle had been waiting for them, then it would have needed to be replaced by someone, perhaps one of the hostages.

So it could be their exit point.

He pushed on the manhole cover and shoved his head up, dropping immediately back down as a car rushed toward him, the tire slamming the grate back into its hole. He grabbed a telescoping mirror from his utility belt and shoved it through one of the small holes in the grate, spotting a break in the traffic. He shoved up, hard, the grate lifting, then pushed it aside. He quickly pulled himself out of the hole and onto the pavement, rushing forward, a hand raised as the traffic accelerated toward him from a now green light.

Brakes screeched and what he was sure were colorful Korean curses were shouted at him by several drivers before they noticed his impressive MP5.

And Atlas’ massive frame now beside him.

He had a feeling his partner was more responsible for the change in attitude than the submachine gun.

Half a dozen Korean officers swarmed out of the hole, setting up a perimeter as Dawson surveyed the area.

Nothing.

He activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One. VIP support staff hostages recovered, but not the VIPs. Lock onto my current location and start checking for footage of any vehicle parked here for a while. We think they were transferred at this location, over.”

“Roger that, Zero-One.”

Dawson stared at the large, heavy grate, then at the street, pedestrians nearby.

Atlas looked at him. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking there’s no way a dozen well-dressed women climb out of a storm sewer, replace a grate, and get in a vehicle without someone noticing it, especially since the story’s hit the news.”

“So another truck like earlier? One with a panel in the floor?”

“Probably. The Canadian said Nancy went first, which means she would have had to remove that grate on her own.”

Atlas glanced at the thick piece of metal. “Doubt that. She’s a pretty delicate thing.”

“Exactly. So it was already moved, just like before.”

Atlas grunted. “Okay, by who? The same guy who moved the other one? And if you’re willing to move grates, why not drive? If this final vehicle had a driver, he could move the first grate just before the automated truck arrived, then park his truck here, moving this one, then when everyone was in the back, replace it.”

Dawson shook his head, something finally dawning on him. “They left almost half the hostages behind.”

“Right.”

“And that means they didn’t need as big a vehicle.”

Atlas’ eyes narrowed. “The second stolen vehicle.” He snapped his fingers. “It was a box van or something, wasn’t it?”

Dawson nodded. “Yup, too small to hold all of the hostages, which is why we ruled it out before, but it’s just big enough to hold those they now have.”

Atlas frowned. “And it blends a whole lot better than a rig.”

Dawson watched the traffic now flowing around them again, at least three box vans within sight. Even if Langley picked up the one they were searching for on camera, they’d have a hell of a time tracking it.

Someone shouted to their right and Dawson spun, raising his weapon, Atlas doing the same as they both took a step toward a man who was waving his arms, rushing out of a Bonchon Chicken outlet. Traffic careened to a halt as the young man stepped into the street, oblivious to the danger.

Then he froze, his eyes bulging, the weapons finally noticed.

A subcompact swerved impatiently around the stopped cars, gunning it up the side before slamming on its brakes as the driver finally noticed the paralyzed man in the middle of the road. Dawson stepped forward, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, yanking him out of the way just before a bumper took up residence in his former spot.

Rapid fire Korean erupted from the man’s mouth, he staring directly into Dawson’s eyes, still in shock at his near death experience.

“Buddy, I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

The man grabbed Dawson by his bulletproof vest. “American?”

“Yes.”

One of the senior officers rushed over, pulling the man away, a quick conversation taking place, one Dawson couldn’t understand a word of.

Too bad Niner’s not here.

He frowned at the thought of his missing friend.

If anything happens to him, we don’t rest until they’re all dead.

The senior officer turned toward him. “He says he moved the grate.”

Dawson’s eyes widened slightly. “He’s admitting to it?”

“Yes. He says someone paid him a million wons to replace it.”

Dawson’s eyes narrowed as he did the mental math.

About a thousand bucks.

Good pay for a few minutes of work.

Wait a minute.

“Replace?”

The officer nodded. “Yes. He says when he arrived the grate was removed. He replaced it then was supposed to leave.”

Dawson looked at the man. “Do you speak English?”

He nodded.

“Who paid you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I do odd jobs around the city for money.”

Atlas grunted. “Huh, you can make a living like that?”

“Sure. You’d be amazed at what people are willing to pay for someone to do things for them, especially the questionable things.”

Dawson snagged on the last statement. “Like?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

The senior officer jabbed the air with a finger. “You talk now or I hand you over to the Americans.”

Atlas growled menacingly, it eliciting the desired response.

“O-okay. Well, if someone’s neighbor refused to mow their lawn or trim their hedge, I go in and do it while they’re at work. If someone wants to sabotage a competitor’s sale, I’ll post a few hundred bad reviews of their store.”

“So someone asked you to remove a grate.”

He shook his head. “No. Replace a grate. It was already removed when I got here.”

“Then you were supposed to leave.”

“Yes. And never come back.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Curious, I guess. Then when I saw you, I realized this had to have something to do with the kidnapping.” He waved his hands in front of him. “I do some questionable things, but nothing really illegal. I don’t want to have anything to do with kidnapping people.”

“How were you hired?”

“Over the Internet.”

Again with the Internet.

“Okay, we’ll need everything you have on the person who hired you.” Dawson motioned toward the senior officer. “Give him your address, we’re going to need access to your computer.”

The man laughed, pulling out his phone. “Who uses computers anymore?” He handed it to Dawson. “Everything’s on here.”

56

Unknown Location

Republic of Korea

Nancy held onto Niner tight, never wanting to let him go. She had seen only glimpses of him since their time together in Mozambique, he apparently a regular part of her father’s security detail when they traveled outside of the country. Whenever she did see him he was on duty, stoically guarding her father behind a pair of sunglasses, though she was certain he nodded—almost imperceptibly—when she waved to him.

It was enough to fire her dreams for a week.

And feel guilty about cheating on Jeff.

Is it cheating if it’s just a fantasy?

That was a Mom question, so she doubted she’d ever really get an answer.

She sniffed, finally letting go, painfully aware that the returned hug was a little on the loose side of things. She stared up at the handsome soldier, though not far up, she rather tall, he rather short.

If we dated, I don’t know if I could wear heels!

“Thank God you’re here!” she finally said, her voice cracking. She turned to the others. “He’s part of my dad’s security team! We’re saved!”

Excitement swept through the room, gasps of relief met cries of joy as everyone leaped to their feet, hugs exchanged, some rushing over to thank their saviors.

“Ladies, please, there’s been a misunderstanding.” Niner stepped forward, holding his hands out. “I’m really sorry, but we’re not here to save you.”

Nancy’s chest tightened and her eyes narrowed as her smile slowly faded. “What do you mean?”

“He means he and his friend are joining you as our guests.”

Niner looked about the room, apparently searching for the source of the voice. His eyes settled on a speaker with a camera mounted beside it. “Why did you take us?”

“Insurance in case your friends get close. They might think twice before interfering if it might cost the lives of one of their own.”

Nancy grabbed onto Niner, squeezing him at the waist, trembling. He placed an arm over her shoulders, his hand patting her as he continued to stare at the camera. She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling safe for the first time.

And for the first time, not missing Jeff.

57

Crawford Residence

Forest Hills, Washington, DC

“I think I’ve got something!”

Jeff glanced over at the monitor showing Clarence and Vic, the former excited about something. “What?”

“I found the IP address for a LiveLeak posting of the video.”

Jeff shrugged. “It’s probably just spoofed.”

“It was. DoD, so you know it’s BS.”

Vic spun in his chair. “I don’t trust anybody in the military. I wouldn’t put it past them to be involved somehow.”

“Hey, asshole, my dad’s in the military!”

Vic stopped spinning. He leaned into his camera. “Yeah, and do you trust him?”

Clarence leaned even closer. “More than I trust you, dickhead.”

“Okay, okay,” interrupted Jeff, they getting into dangerous territory. “What did you find?”

“Well, I started crawling for anything using the same spoofed IP, and found half a dozen posts on sites that don’t make sense for a DoD user to be posting at, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Lots of people post shit when they’re supposed to be working.”

“True.”

“But, I found a Facebook posting using the DoD IP address.” Fingers flew and suddenly they were browsing vacation photos of a happy family somewhere on a beach. “They’re in Mexico.”

Vic grunted. “So?”

“So? Maybe if you parked your hatred for all things military, you’d be able to put that thing you call a brain into gear, and realize that a DoD IP address doesn’t get used in Mexico.”

Vic leaped to his own defense. “Maybe they posted them after.”

“Nope, look at the comments. They’re from today, and they’re still there.”

Jeff smiled. “I get the feeling you’re about to tell us something more.”

“You know me oh so well. The guy’s been posting photos all day but only one batch used that IP address. All the ones before and after were a regular IP address in Colorado.”

Jeff’s eyes narrowed. “That’s weird. Shouldn’t they be using an IP in Mexico?”

“Exactly! I think he RDP’d into his home computer from Mexico, then posted the photos that way!”

Vic stopped another spin of his chair, suddenly interested. “You mean like GoToMyPC or something?”

“Exactly! Anyway, I think he happened to be logged in when the malware on his computer hijacked it and downloaded that North Korean video!”

Jeff smiled. “It makes sense, but we need to be sure. We need—”

“I’m already sure.”

“How?”

“I’m logged into his PC right now.”

“You hacked his password already?”

“Shit, he’s got birthday photos of his wife and two kids all marked as public, and uses his wife’s birthday as his password.”

Vic cursed. “Man, somebody has to give this dude a lesson in the Internets.”

“You’ve been logged in this entire time? Why didn’t you just tell us?”

Clarence grinned at the camera. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Jeff shook his head. “What did you find?”

“What we’ve been looking for.”

Jeff felt a smile spread across his face as his heart began to race. “You found the video’s source site?”

“Yup.”

He hesitated to ask the all-important question. “Is it still up?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Then let’s get to work!”

58

Embassy of the United States Seoul

32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Mr. President, we now have one of your agents and a South Korean agent in our custody.”

President Starling exchanged a concerned look with Red, the phone on speaker so the operator and Langley could listen in, no one else in the embassy privy to the truth. Though they had all suspected what had happened to the missing operator, at least it was now confirmed, and by the sounds of it, he and his Korean counterpart were still alive. “What are your intentions?”

“Nothing, as long as you do exactly what I say.”

Starling drew a long, slow breath, closing his eyes as he struggled to stay calm. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”

“Does that mean you’re ready to negotiate?”

He opened his eyes and looked at Red who was nodding, as if reminding his President of what was at stake. “Yes.”

“Excellent. You will continue to refrain from informing your counterparts of the truth. If we detect any change in your military posture, we will kill the hostages starting with your daughter. Understood?”

Starling closed his eyes for a moment then picked up the picture on the desk, his daughter laughing at the camera, a preserved family moment that could never be duplicated. “Yes.” He decided to try and move things along. “What is it you want? You mentioned our record on the environment. Do you have specific greenhouse gas emissions targets that you want me to propose?”

There was a laugh from the other end of the phone. “Mr. President, you and I both know that treaties are useless, especially those negotiated under duress. Even if I held your daughter long enough for you to pass the climate change treaties necessary to save our world, you would simply either ignore them or rescind them.”

Starling frowned, staring at the phone sitting beside the leather blotter. This man was clearly no fool, not that he expected him to be, though it had been his experience that those blinded by religion, whether the worship of a deity or the new environmentalist cult of Anthropogenic Global Warming, were quite often prone to rash statements and decisions.

Apparently not today.

“Then what is it you want?”

“Money, Mr. President.”

Starling’s eyes shot wide. “Is that all this is about? Ransom?”

“No, nothing so repugnant or crude. You will receive a list of environmental charities in the next few moments. You are to transfer the amounts indicated in that message into the accounts listed, then publicly announce that you have made the donations, and challenge the other leaders to do the same, on a percentage of GDP basis. The United States currently comprises 22% of the total Gross Domestic Product of all the G20 nations. The information you will receive will indicate the expected amounts from the other nations should there be any questions.”

Starling shook his head. “Won’t the timing be a little suspicious?”

“It should be, Mr. President, it should be. You will tell the world that you refuse to have important work sidelined by rogue states, and are instead announcing an initiative you had proposed at the meeting, and moving forward with that initiative.”

“But I made no such proposal.”

“Of course you didn’t, and the other leaders know this, so they will correctly interpret it as a ransom payment, which of course you will deny, but the implication will be there. As each country makes their deposit, their VIP will be released.”

The phone vibrated with a text message. Starling picked it up and opened an attached image. His eyes narrowed as he zoomed in on what appeared to be a list of charities, many he knew. “Wait a minute, these are charities. I don’t understand. How are you benefiting from this?”

Another chuckle. “Mr. President, I’m not. This has nothing to do with me, nor anything to do with you. It has everything to do with our planet. You continue to see the world through the lens of capitalist greed. If you were to toss off the cloak of corporate control and realize that money is not only the root of all evil and all power, but also the means to fight such evil and power, you would realize that not all of us are motivated by such trappings. You will make these donations to not only save the life of your daughter but your citizenry as well. Mr. President, today you will be saving the world by putting the money necessary to do so into the hands of those without an agenda other than saving this planet for future generations. Begin transferring the money within the next sixty minutes, or the body count begins to rise. Rapidly.”

The call abruptly ended, and Starling leaned back in his chair before sitting up again and pushing the phone toward Red. The operator picked it up and examined the attached image, the page showing charities, donation amounts, and bank account numbers.

“Sir, there’s billions of dollars listed here. How are we going to be able to do it?”

Starling shook his head. “I don’t know. I have certain discretionary powers, but even so, it takes time.” He picked up the framed photo of his family and stared into his daughter’s eyes. “What am I going to do? I can’t lose her too.”

59

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Do we have the list?”

“Yes.” Tong pointed at the screen, a scanned image of a piece of paper appearing.

Leroux’s eyebrows popped. “That’s a lot of money.”

“Looks like over three billion,” agreed Tong.

“Okay, match that with the rest of the G20 and we’re looking at almost four and a half times as much, so over twelve billion.” His eyes narrowed. “Wait. Eliminate those without spouses on the bus, including the Chinese and Germans. What are we looking at?”

Tong’s fingers were already busy, she apparently anticipating his question. “Exactly eight billion.”

Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly?”

“Pretty much to the penny if we use the GDP percentages they’re using.”

“Yeah, but they’ve listed everyone,” said Child. “Doesn’t that mean they’re expecting the other countries to contribute, even if they’re not victims?”

Leroux shook his head. “No, I think it’s meant to look that way, but these people are too smart to expect that. The eight billion is their end game. And I’m willing to bet that number means something to somebody.”

“It might mean something to somebody, but how the hell is the President going to come up with three billion in less than an hour. It’s not exactly couch change.”

Leroux nodded at Child. “And they know that.”

“So…”

“So, I think they intend to kill a hostage to demonstrate their resolve.”

Director Morrison rushed into the room, his eyes already glued to the image on the display. “I got your message. What’s your gut telling you?”

Leroux frowned, looking at the others in the room, all eyes on him. “My gut tells me this entire thing is a smokescreen.”

Morrison stared at him. “For what?”

“I think it’s a money grab. Real environmentalists aren’t going to risk a war that could go nuclear.” He looked about at his team. “I want to know who these charities are, and I want it confirmed that these account numbers actually belong to them. Now!”

Heads dropped toward keyboards as everyone got to work. Morison stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that there’s almost fifty charities up there, all with big numbers tied to their names. All it takes is for one of those to be a front, and whoever’s behind this is walking away with a lot of money.”

60

Unknown Location

Republic of Korea

Niner sat sandwiched between Kim and Nancy, the young girl occasionally leaning forward and eyeing her perceived competition from time to time. He wasn’t blind to the fact a little teenage crush had formed and jealousy was already rearing its ugly head, Kim the target of her wrath. He had brought everyone up to date, their disappointment evident, though they had remained remarkably calm until they heard about the death of their Chinese counterpart.

That had elicited tears.

And fear.

He and Kim had examined the room thoroughly and unimpeded, the speaker on the wall silent, it one of two, with over a dozen cameras and listening devices spread about.

There would be no privacy, including in the toilets, though they kept that little tidbit from the others, Kim deciding the ladies shouldn’t fear bathroom breaks.

The lone door was protected by a security panel that had no keypad, it appearing to have some sort of sensor on it that could probably detect a signal transmitted by someone, or perhaps a drone, though they had no need for a door, the walls extending perhaps ten feet from the floor. The roof was far above them, a steel beam construction with lots of glass—very industrial.

In fact, the room they were in—modular walls with a floating floor—seemed completely out of place in such a setting, it clearly purpose-built by humans, and stocked from local stores, Kim recognizing a few private labels. Somebody in Seoul had done this, and that meant there was somebody for Dawson and the others to find.

We just have to sit tight and survive.

Escape might be possible, though only for him and perhaps Kim. A quick leap up and over the wall was easy; it was the drones that were the concern. He was unarmed, with no intel on what was on the other side, though one thing he had noticed on his way into this tiny oasis had him thinking it might be worth the sacrifice.

The charging pads.

If he could clear the wall, they were less than twenty feet from the door, and if he managed to reach them and unplug them, the drones would eventually lose power and their ordeal would be over.

They’re liable to kill the hostages before that happens.

Whoever was behind this had proven they wouldn’t hesitate to kill. He wondered if they truly were environmentalists. It was possible, eco-terrorism having killed before. And it was much easier to kill someone using a drone than it was with a gun held in your hand, with your target’s eyes staring at you.

It was why so many people he had encountered demanded you turn your back.

He had never felt the need. If he killed someone, they deserved to die.

No guilt.

No shame.

And no joy.

It never felt good to take a life, not deep down. There might be the satisfaction that you had killed a truly bad person, that you had saved lives by taking a life, but he never went home and had a beer to celebrate the kill.

And he’d never forget anyone whose eyes he had stared into before squeezing that trigger.

Regret didn’t dominate his dreams. With some in his business it did, and he understood it, and one day something would happen, something would go wrong, and the wrong person might die and it would be his responsibility.

And then maybe it would all change.

He knew Kane was a changed man. He had heard rumors of an incident in Afghanistan, though nothing official. But he could see it in the man’s eyes.

He was different somehow.

Man, I hope I’m never like that.

He stared up at the windows overhead and prayed Jimmy had made it out.

I love that guy.

He’d never admit it, and if he did, the bastard might accuse him of being gay again, though he knew the feeling was mutual. He loved them all, and he was sure they all loved each other, though Jimmy was the one he was closest to. He had lost friends before, Stucco the most recent, and it had hurt, but he and Jimmy had been through so much together, if anything happened to him, he’d take it hard.

Damned hard.

He remembered how Clint had been affected when Spaz had bought it in Peru at the hands of a man he now considered a friend, Professor James Acton.

Now that’s something I do regret.

False intel had led them to kill a group of innocent students, their handlers telling them they were actually terrorists training for an op inside the United States. Fortunately, Dawson had spared them the nightmares by performing the executions himself, and it had changed him, he tortured with the memories.

They had all been trying to atone for those sins since.

But it wasn’t possible, and he wondered if on his Judgement Day, would he be deemed worthy, free of blame for following his orders, or would he too be condemned for participating in the crimes of those times.

We were following what we thought were lawful orders.

Those truly responsible were already dead.

And so were a lot of good people.

He could have quit, resigned from the Unit, left the Army, but instead he persevered, pushed through the pain, and now tried to save as many lives as he could, to live his life as best he could, to honor those who had died, comrades and strangers.

Like here, today.

He’d find some way to save these women.

The innocent.

He felt a tug on his sleeve.

He looked at Nancy who leaned in, cupping her hands around his ear.

“Who’s she?”

He turned toward her, keeping his voice low. “A colleague from the National Police Agency.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

He smiled, the question tentative, uncertain. “No, I just met her today. I may be good, but I’m not that good.”

She flushed slightly. “You mean you have lots of girlfriends?”

The poor kid appeared genuinely hurt. Niner chuckled, trying to set her at ease, no matter how inappropriate the attraction on her part may be. “No, not at all. In fact, one of my best friends just told me today he thought I was gay.”

Her eyes shot wide and her jaw dropped. “You’re not, are you?”

He laughed. “If I am, I’m pretty sure I’m doing it wrong.”

She giggled and appeared relieved.

“So I understand you have a boyfriend.”

Her eyes shot wide. “Umm, no. Why would you think that?”

“Oh, Jeff’s not your boyfriend? Huh. You two are almost inseparable at school, texting all the time. Seems like a nice boy.”

She had paled. “H-how did you know that?”

Niner smiled. “Your father is President of the United States. Did you really think you could hide a boyfriend from him?”

Nancy’s shoulders slumped, her chin dropping to her chest. “Ugh, I hate being watched twenty-four-seven.”

“Understandable. But he’s just trying to protect you.”

“From what? Jeff’s a nice guy, he’d never hurt me.”

“Noo, he might not, but”—he waved his hand at their surroundings—“clearly some people want to. The Secret Service check out everything that might be a threat, so they can eliminate that threat from their radar. They checked out Jeff then dismissed him, which is the only reason the relationship was allowed to continue. If they had any concerns, he would have been somehow transferred to another school and your messages blocked.”

Nancy looked up at Niner. “So Dad knows?”

“Yup.”

“And he’s okay with it?”

“As okay as any father can be, I guess.”

She blushed. “He is a nice guy.”

“I’m sure he is.”

Nancy leaned forward and stared at Kim before sitting back and whispering in his ear. “And she seems nice as well. You should ask her out.”

Niner opened his mouth to respond when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He stared up and saw a stream of drones entering an open window high above them, another group leaving. “Interesting.”

Nancy shrugged. “I think that’s the second or third time they’ve done that since we’ve been here.”

“They must be using the charging pads I saw and rotating them in and out as needed.” He turned to Kim, switching to Korean. “If that’s the case, then this might be their command and control center.”

Kim agreed. “At least for the drones. I still haven’t seen any evidence that anyone is actually here.”

“Me neither, though somebody built and stocked this. I think this is the C2 for the drones only. They recharge here while fresh ones are sent out.”

“C2?”

“Command and Control.”

Kim’s head bobbed as they watched the last of the drones leave. “It makes sense—they have to recharge somewhere, but who reloads the guns? There’s no way they can automate that without some sort of robot, and I didn’t see anything out there.”

Niner’s eyes narrowed as he thought about what Kim had just said, a smile slowly spreading on his face. “So what you’re saying is that once they’re out of bullets, they’re permanently out of bullets.” His smile was now a grin.

Kim eyed him. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”

His grin spread. “You hardly know me, but apparently I’m very transparent.”

“You really think having them use up their bullets is a wise idea?”

He grunted. “No one ever accused me of being wise, but no, it’s too dangerous. It’s something to keep in mind, though. If they’re all using the same weapon, then it’s a fifteen round mag. If not, then give or take one or two.”

“One or two can mean everything when a gun is shooting at you.”

Niner grinned. “Yup. So just make sure it’s not shooting at you.”

61

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“There’re no cameras at all?”

Child shook his head. “No, sir. There’s no ATMs, no store cameras, nothing in the area, just the city traffic cameras, and those were all disabled the entire time.”

Leroux cursed. “No way that’s a coincidence. Whoever is behind this left breadcrumbs along the way to keep us thinking we were making progress, just so they could sweep the trail clean when we finally reached the end.”

“So what do we do now? We can’t even be sure what the truck looks like. The guy who moved the grate was useless!”

“We forget the physical trail and concentrate on the digital.” He turned to Tong. “Any luck figuring out the source of that video?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. And look.” She pointed at the display as she hit a few keys, satellite imagery of a North Korean launch facility appearing. “Looks like they’re fueling their missiles.”

“Are those at Punggye-ri?”

“Yes.”

Leroux frowned. “So they might be nukes.”

“Christ, we need to get the President out of there!”

Leroux shook his head at Child’s outburst. “He’ll never leave without his daughter.”

“Then we need to find her. Now!”

“Sir, got something!”

Leroux glanced back at one of his staff as he rushed toward Tong’s station. “Bring up what I just sent you.”

She did and Leroux rose, staring at the display as Tong brought it up. “What am I looking at?”

“I’ve found the bank account used to wire funds into PayPal for the manhole cover gig.”

“And?”

A transaction history appeared. “We have a wire transfer for two-hundred-and-twenty-thousand into the account. Ten thousand was then deposited into PayPal, twenty then wired out, and the rest wired a few days after, all about two months ago.”

Leroux stabbed a finger at the screen. “We need to find out where those wire transfers went. Amounts that big aren’t for moving manhole covers.”

62

Embassy of the United States Seoul

32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

President Starling checked his watch as Red contacted Langley for a clarification on the conversation that had taken place almost an hour ago.

Their deadline was fast approaching with nothing deposited.

“Control, can you confirm if he said to begin transferring the money within sixty minutes?”

There was a pause then Red gave a thumbs up and a head bob.

Starling breathed a sigh of relief. There was no way to transfer three billion within sixty minutes, not even as a President, though his staff back in Washington were prepared to transfer several hundred million of his discretionary funding, and Treasury was cooperating, though it took time, it not exactly sitting in bank accounts. The Vice President was working with Congress, the hope being that the transfers could be authorized and completed, then the charities contacted to try and retrieve the bulk of the money afterward should it become necessary.

Everyone was working together, it a refreshing change.

But governments moved slowly.

Surely they know this!

Red held the phone against his chest. “Sir, Langley has an idea.”

“What?”

“CIA has slush funds that they can access. They can do electronic transfers instantaneously.”

“Enough to cover what they want?”

“Perhaps, but that will take authorization. Control says he can immediately transfer several hundred million, though. He just needs the go ahead.”

Starling’s pulse raced with sudden hope. “Do it! Proportionally into each account, if possible.”

Red nodded, repeating the instruction. “Hold for the President.” He held out the phone. “They need to hear it from you, Mr. President.” Starling took the phone. “You’re on with Supervisor Analyst Chris Leroux.”

“This is the President.”

“Umm, it-it’s an honor, sir.” He heard a gulp. “I’m sorry, sir, but we need to hear the instructions from you.”

“Understood, Mr. Leroux. Transfer whatever funds you can before the deadline, proportionally to each account.”

“Yes, sir.” Starling heard muffled instructions given, apparently to Leroux’s staff. “Sir, we’re initiating the transfers. Hopefully we can get in under the deadline, but there’s only a few minutes left.”

“Chris, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have kids?”

“No, sir.”

“Anyone close to you?”

“Yes, sir. My girlfriend.”

“You love her?”

“Ahh, very much, sir.”

“And you’d do anything to save her if the roles were reversed?”

“Yes, sir, I would.”

“Then don’t hopefully get it done. Get it done.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

63

Qingdau, China

“How far to the factory?”

Chan Chao shrugged. “About two hours?”

Kane stared at him. “Christ, we don’t have two hours!”

Chan again shrugged. “That’s why we’re not going there.”

Kane’s eyes narrowed as his Chinese contact guided them through traffic, Kane having just arrived on a charter flight from Seoul. “Huh?”

“The owner lives half an hour from here and he’s home.”

Kane nodded, his eyes on the cars ahead of him rather than his sometimes-exasperating friend. “How do you know?”

“You have your sources, I have mine.”

Kane smiled. “I won’t ask.” His stomach gurgled, his intestines cramping.

He moaned.

“You okay?”

Kane gripped his abdomen. “Stomach problems. Bad laap mei.”

Chan stared at him for a moment. “You good for an op?”

“I’ll survive.” Kane grimaced, deciding to change the subject. “How’s the wife?”

“She asked me to send you over when we’re done, and for me to take a hike.”

“Tell her I’m spoken for.”

Chan’s head bobbed. “I heard that. Be careful my friend, my government hasn’t forgotten what Lee Fang did and would like nothing more than to get their hands on her.”

Kane frowned, the very idea of anything happening to the first woman he had ever loved, terrifying. And rage inducing. “You tell them that if anyone lays a finger on her, I’ll make it my life’s mission to kill every single one of them.” He turned to Chan, stabbing the air with a finger to make his point clearer. “And you know I’m more than capable.”

Chan laughed. “I think they already know that, which is the only reason she’s still alive.”

“Good.”

“Perhaps. Let’s just hope they don’t decide to eliminate you first.”

Kane sighed. “Why can’t life be simple?”

“Buddy, if we wanted simple, you wouldn’t have joined the CIA, and I wouldn’t have become a traitor to my own country.”

Kane regarded the old man, concerned. He was long past his prime, though showed no signs of slowing down. “You should retire, old friend. I can get you and your wife out, set you up back home. You’d be safe.”

Chan quickly shook his head. “No way. This is my home. China has its problems, but I love my country. What I do is not to hurt it, but to save it from itself. One day, with a little luck, we’ll become a democracy and my people will be free.”

Kane’s head bobbed slowly as he gazed at the teeming masses surrounding them on the streets. “From your lips…”

64

Crawford Residence

Forest Hills, Washington, DC

“I think I found the upload IP.”

Jeff’s fingers froze over his keyboard and he turned toward Clarence. “Spoofed?”

“Oh yeah, but it was too big a transmission to bury on the network they were using.”

Jeff’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Look.” An image fed to his display. “It was mostly a satellite upload. That narrows the available bandwidth by quite a bit.”

Jeff paused. “Wait, did you say mostly?”

Clarence smiled. “I was wondering if you’d pick up on that. A couple of packets of data actually went through a cellular network.”

Jeff smiled, his head slowly bobbing. “So wherever they are has a satellite uplink and cellular capability.” His smile disappeared. “But why would they risk that? Cellular’s way too easy to trace.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t think they were connected. Maybe they’re configured to go cellular first then satellite when there’s no connectivity.”

Vic piped in. “Makes sense. So wherever they are, they thought there was no way they could connect to a cell network, but they did for a few seconds, so the data transmission switched over to it then back to the satellite network.” Vic smacked his hands together, leaning back from the camera. “That’s awesome, dude, you figured it out!”

“Was there ever any doubt?”

Jeff stared at the IP address. “Where is it?”

“South Korea.”

Jeff resisted the urge to check the Internet Protocol address, instead deciding on allowing Clarence the glory. “Ping it, see if they’re still online!”

65

Embassy of the United States Seoul

32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Mr. President, your time is up.”

Starling tensed at the tone of finality coming from his phone, the call received precisely sixty minutes after the last one ended.

Exactly at the deadline.

A deadline they had fallen woefully short of making, though to Leroux’s credit, he had transferred over three-hundred-million, some reaching every single charity.

He had to hope it was enough.

“If you check your accounts, you’ll see we’ve already begun to transfer the funds as you stipulated. Over three-hundred-million has already been sent.”

“Are you playing games with me, Mr. President? I want all the money deposited, not some token amount.”

Starling’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of his chair, his heart slamming as he realized their gambling with a slip of the man’s tongue was probably about to fail.

But they had no choice. It was time to go all in.

“And it will be, but it will take time. You said we had to begin transferring the money within an hour. You said nothing about everything being transferred.”

There was a pause.

A bead of sweat rolled down Starling’s back.

“So you want to play word games? You want to play games with the life of your daughter? You want to—wait a minute. What the hell?” There was a pause, concern in the voice on the other end, Starling exchanging a confused glance with Red. “Mr. President, I see you’ve simply been playing for time. You think detecting my network will save your daughter? Well, it won’t. Your time is up, Mr. President. See you in hell!”

The call ended and Starling jumped from his chair, leaning over his cellphone lying on the desk. “Hello? Hello?” He looked up at Red. “What the hell is he talking about?”

Red shook his head, leaning toward the comms set up on the desk so Langley could listen in. “Control, did you hear that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you find him?”

“Negative. We’re still trying to trace the upload.”

Red looked at Starling, puzzled. “Well, he certainly thinks we’ve found him.”

“We haven’t, sir, but…”

“But what?”

“Maybe someone else has.”

“Who?” asked Starling, dropping back into his chair.

“Perhaps one of the other governments involved.”

Red leaned onto the desk, knuckles white as his face was only inches from the microphone. “Whoever it is, we need to find out right away!”

“Yes, sir.”

Starling tilted forward in his chair, his eyes burning. “Hurry, Mr. Leroux, it might be the only way to save my daughter.”

66

Joint Security Area

Panmunjom, Korean Demilitarized Zone

Ki-yong pressed the nicotine patch under his uniform, trying to coax out some more medicine, his fingers shaking from withdrawal. His new girlfriend had insisted he quit smoking before he met her parents, and she was worth the pain—she was sleeping with him, after all. Yet he was seriously jonesing for a butt and a session of Minecraft, his usually boring job far too tense today, his adrenal glands pegged from the constant activity on the other side of the Demilitarized Zone.

He knew what was going on, of course, he wasn’t an idiot. It was all over the news, even the music station he normally listened to covering the story of the G20 kidnapping. They had all seen the video from the North claiming responsibility, though he still didn’t know what it was all about.

What do they hope to accomplish?

If they wanted war, they were certainly going about it properly. From the briefing, he knew more hardware and personnel were being sent here from around the world, it the biggest buildup since the war.

It was a recipe for disaster.

And he was on the frontlines.

He thought of his girlfriend and wondered if this morning’s romp might have been the last one of his pathetically short and uninteresting life.

If it is, I’m killing everyone I can.

He grunted.

You’ll be the first to die.

He had the worst luck of anyone he knew, having been in Yeonpyeong when the North had dropped almost 170 shells and rockets on the island, killing four people, one of whom his parents had known. The retaliation had been swift and effective, the tense balance between the two nations maintained.

His family had immediately moved, his mother refusing to live there anymore, it simply too close to the madmen ruling the land her son now stared at through binoculars. They had moved as far south as they could, his father fortunately able to transfer within the same company, though he had taken a pay cut.

It had hurt the family.

And that was why he had skipped his plans for university and instead joined the military, much of his paycheck sent home to help the family until his father could regain his position and his mother could find work. He had promised once things had settled he’d continue his education, though not before.

He was a man, after all, and as the eldest son, it was his responsibility to help when needed.

No matter the cost to his future.

He stared at his counterpart—his mirror—on the other side of the line, giving a slight acknowledgment with the lifting of three fingers. It was returned, at great risk to his counterpart, the North probably more likely to shoot him if he were caught “fraternizing” with the enemy. He had no idea what the man’s name was, or anything about him, only that he was young like him, and probably had dreams like everyone else here, manning the line.

As long as everyone stays calm, we might make it out of this.

A buzzing sound behind him had him flipping over from his perch, his jaw dropping as something sped toward him. The others were hearing it now, everyone turning to see the cause of the sound.

“What the hell is that?”

A drone sped past them, followed by at least another half-dozen, streaming toward the other side, over the fences and the barbed wire and toward the gate manned by their opponents.

Gunfire erupted and he flipped back over onto his stomach, peering through his binoculars, his chest tightening in horror as the drones somehow opened fire on the guards, several already down.

An alarm sounded across the border, quickly followed by their own. Soldiers streamed from bunkers on both sides, those on the North finding several of their comrades dead.

They opened fire.

Though not on the drones, drones that appeared to have vanished, but on him and his friends. He ducked behind his sandbag-surrounded foxhole and grabbed the emergency phone connecting him to HQ.

“What’s going on out there!”

“It wasn’t us! We didn’t fire first!”

“Then who the hell fired?”

“It was drones!” he cried as the gunfire intensified from both sides. “Tell them to cease fire! It wasn’t us!”

A wave of nausea swept over him as he heard the most fearsome sound he could imagine, thunder in the distance, memories of the childhood horror of Yeonpyeong flooding back.

North Korean artillery.

67

Outside Qingdau, China

Kane slipped over the wall, dropping silently to the grass below. Chan had already left, under strict orders to make himself scarce until retrieval was required. He edged forward, keeping a wary eye out for cameras and guards, but finding none.

Hang Jian apparently felt quite secure in his own home, behind his high walls.

And it made sense.

He was, after all, a member of the Party.

Untouchable.

Unless they turned on him.

Then no amount of security would save him.

Kane’s stomach abruptly betrayed him and he bent over, heaving everything he had eaten for the past twenty-four hours into a birdbath thankfully free of feathered guests.

He stared at his handiwork, a twinge of guilt tormenting him as he thought of the poor domestic who was going to have to clean that up once discovered.

Sorry.

But he did feel much better.

Sometimes you just have to let it go.

The song from Frozen popped in his head.

He quickly punched his inner voice in the throat, ending the torment.

He moved forward silently, the sound of music and giggling catching his ear. He rounded the north side of the house and smiled, Hang in a hot tub, two women paying nipple service to him, the rotund man’s head tossed back in ecstasy.

Sensitive nipples?

A third woman slowly emerged from under the water.

Oh.

He glanced at the man’s left hand, a wedding ring visible.

I doubt one of them is his wife.

He reached into his pocket and screwed a suppressor into the end of his Norinco QSZ-92, then boldly walked toward the party, rounding the hot tub so he was facing the adulterer.

“Your wife sent me to check up on you.”

The girls yelped and the man sat bolt upright, his eyes wide with shock. “Who are you?” A flash of anger immediately replaced the surprise, as if in his arrogance he thought he was too powerful to kill.

Kane ignored the question, continuing in perfect Mandarin. “Ladies, if you’ll please excuse us?” They sat, unmoving.

He flicked his weapon.

And they jumped, rushing inside the house, Kane’s eyes following their slippery forms with appreciation.

They’ve got nothing on Fang.

Kane aimed the weapon casually at the man’s nether regions. “You know why I’m here.”

Hang’s eyes narrowed. “Did my wife send you?”

He actually appeared slightly worried.

Must be a formidable woman.

“No, but if you survive the night, she just might find out about your little party here.”

Hang flicked the water, dismissing the threat. “She won’t care. I’ll just buy her another necklace. She’s a tramp from the farm who has forgotten her place.”

Kane’s smile disappeared. “I think you’ve forgotten your place.”

His stomach flipped again and a wave of nausea swept over him, a cold sweat breaking out over his entire body.

“You look like shit. Are you okay? Don’t you dare throw up in my hot tub.”

Kane debated doing it just to spite the man. “I think you should be worrying about yourself.”

“I am. I don’t want to catch whatever you’ve got.”

Kane flicked his weapon, reminding the man of his predicament. “I’ve got bullets with your name on them. These are what you should be worried about catching.” Kane knelt in front of the man, tapping the stonework with the suppressor. “Someone placed a large order for drones recently.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, still not taking his situation seriously. “So. We make thousands of drones. Go to Walmart if you want one.”

Kane smiled slightly, Hang evidently figuring out he was American. “These were special drones. Weaponized drones.”

The man paled slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“Each was fitted with a Riker WX handgun, then the shipment was sent to South Korea, arriving yesterday.”

Hang remained quiet, though his earlier bravado had disappeared, he apparently finally clueing into the fact he might be about to die.

If I could see through those bubbles, I bet your balls just ran back to their pre-teen home.

“Are we really going to play this game?”

Again nothing.

Kane raised his weapon, shooting the man in the shoulder. Hang screamed out in pain, his good hand slapping over the wound as blood oozed out over the clenched fingers. Kane nodded toward the wound. “You’ll live, but not long. That hot water has your heart pumping faster than normal. Your clotting agents aren’t going to work as well. Tell me what you know, you live. Play games, you die.” Kane raised his weapon, aiming at the other shoulder.

“Wait!” cried Hang, holding out his bloodstained hand. “Y-you’re right.” He winced, pressing his hand against his shoulder once again. “We got the order and shipped them.”

“And the guns? Where did you get them?”

Hang shook his head. “I-I don’t know.” Kane raised his gun, Hang’s eyes bulging. “No! Wait! It’s the truth! It was an anonymous shipment.”

“Why did you do it? You had to know it was wrong.”

The man’s shoulders sagged, he wincing from the involuntary motion. “Money.”

“Money?”

“Yes. A lot of money.”

“How much?”

“I cleared over one million American dollars.”

“How many drones?”

“Five hundred.”

Kane cursed. “How many were weaponized?”

“All of them. We programmed the weapons as per the instructions given, then mounted them to the drones. We were told to stack them in the container, fully charged and unboxed, with the weapons loaded with the magazines provided in the shipment that arrived two months ago.”

“And you have no idea who you’re dealing with?”

“None, I swear!”

Kane aimed his weapon at the man’s kibbles ’n bits, both hands quickly moving to cover Hang’s favorite body part.

“I swear to you, I have no idea! It was all done through emails and wire transfers.”

Kane eyed the man. There was genuine fear there, of that there was no doubt, though he couldn’t tell if Hang was telling the truth.

It’s this damned food poisoning.

It was throwing him off his game.

The man’s eyes darted away.

Kane smiled.

I knew there was something else.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Hang’s eyes cast toward the rippling water, as if ashamed to answer.

Kane rose, extending his arm, aiming directly at the man’s crotch. “Out with it, or I split the family jewels.”

Hang’s eyes bulged. “Umm, did you find the second shipment?”

68

Seodaemun District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“So, how’s everything going with Vanessa?”

Atlas shrugged. “Better.”

“Just better? I thought you two had patched everything up?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, it’s a lot better than when she wigged out. Now that she knows the truth, I think she’s happy, but she’s still getting used to it, you know, the entire security aspect.”

“She’s been able to keep the secret?”

“Yup. Her mom still hates me.”

Spock slapped him on the back. “There you go!”

Atlas chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that’s something.” He became serious. “Vanessa still worries every time I have to leave. When I get home, she has a hard time letting me go.”

Jagger grinned. “Which can have its perks!”

Atlas laughed. “No doubt! She had a hard time letting me go yesterday, though.”

Dawson motioned to the dozens of heavily armed Koreans. “Well, at least you’re nice and safe in South Korea.”

Atlas grunted. “Yeah, and with all the press coverage, the ladies probably know exactly where we are.”

Dawson motioned toward Atlas’ pocket. “Fire her a text, let her know you’re all right.”

Atlas shook his head. “Better not. If I do that, then every other time I’m on an op and can’t text her, she’ll think I’m dead.”

Dawson nodded. “You’re a wise man.”

“Hey, I ain’t just a pretty face.”

“Oooh, don’t worry. You’re definitely not that.”

“Hey, I said just.”

“Oh, missed that part.”

“Uh huh.”

Dawson held up his hand, cocking an ear. “Oh shit! Incoming!”

He stuck his arms out and corralled everyone he could toward a north-facing wall, there little doubt where the artillery he had just heard originated. As he slammed against the metal side of the warehouse, he looked behind him at the city of ten million. A fireball erupted to the east, then another, followed by dozens more as an intense artillery barrage began, the ground shaking with each nearby explosion.

Sirens abruptly began their terrifying wail, screams heard among those in the warehouse district where they now found themselves. The South Korean in charge rushed over.

“We need to get to shelter, now!”

Dawson watched as the Koreans rushed to their vehicles, there apparently no shelter in the immediate vicinity. He turned to their embassy driver. “Go with them.”

She shook her head. “No way, I’m staying with you.”

Dawson was impressed with her desire to stay, but she was a liability now, neither trained or equipped for the situation. He pointed at the heavy bombardment. “This is now a war zone. You’re not properly equipped and you’re my responsibility.” He lowered his voice. “Please, go with them.”

She frowned, though he caught a hint of relief in her eyes. “Fine.” She tossed him the keys. “Just remember, you’re not bulletproof either.”

He smiled. “I’ll remember.”

She looked at the others, concern in her eyes, then ran over to one of the Korean vehicles and climbed in.

Dawson activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One. The North Koreans have begun bombarding Seoul. If we don’t find the hostages soon, they might not live to see a rescue.”

“Copy that, Zero-One. We’ve got something for you. We located an account that paid that kid you found. It had several other minor transactions, but two larger ones. One to a real estate rental company in Seoul, the other—the largest by far—to a private security firm.”

“Have you been able to reach them?”

“The real estate company refused to answer any questions without a warrant, and the security firm appears to have no way to contact it—I guess if you really need them, you already know how.”

“Addresses?”

“Sent to your phone.”

“I’ll be in touch. Zero-One, out.”

He glanced up as F-16 Fighting Falcons and F-22 Raptors streaked by, screaming toward the front to unload their deadly ordnance on the North’s artillery placements. The trails of hundreds of rockets and missiles responding to the attack filled the sky, the thunder of counter-artillery and missile defense systems blanketing the northern approach to the city deafening, more so as they found targets, detonating the incoming warheads harmlessly overhead.

It was an all-out war.

And he was stuck in the middle with his men.

He looked at the others. “Never thought I’d be on the frontlines of the next Korean War.”

Atlas grimaced as a massive fireball roared skyward less than a mile away. “Me neither. And there’s no damned way I’m dying here. You got those addresses?”

Dawson checked his phone. “Yup.”

“Then how ’bout we get a wiggle on.”

Dawson smiled as he turned around, the Koreans gone. “Looks like you’re navigating.”

69

Embassy of the United States Seoul

32 Sejongno Street, Seoul, Republic of Korea

Red rushed toward the Sikorsky VH-60N “WhiteHawk” helicopter, his hand planted firmly on the small of the President’s back, urging him forward. Fortunately, the choppers had returned from the decoy evacuation, fully fueled at Osan. The north side of the compound was a smoldering wreck, two shells having already hit it. Terrified cries from the civilians surrounded them, and though he wanted to save them all, his responsibility extended to only one man.

The President of the United States.

He pushed the most powerful man in the world into his seat as the rest piled in.

“Go! Go! Go!”

The chopper lifted off, Sergeant Zack “Wings” Hauser at the controls, the building holding the chopper pilots taking a direct hit, killing or injuring half the crews. Though he trusted the Marines who normally piloted this bird, he had ordered Wings to take over, leaving the survivors to pilot the decoys—he wanted someone with ten years of combat experience behind the stick.

They cleared the walls and the nose dipped sharply as Wings picked up speed, keeping them low, barely above the rooftops. They all sat in silence as they watched the carnage unfold underneath them, shell upon shell slamming into the innocence below, he left to question why they would leave their capital city so close to such insanity.

There were plans to relocate the capital farther south, though denial prevented them from moving forward with the logical choice. The South Korean people were strong and proud and filled with hope that one day the two halves of their divided country would be united. Today that possibility was either irrevocably destroyed, or if things should go all the way, forced upon them whether they wanted it or not.

South Korea wouldn’t be lost.

Though the cost of victory might be impossibly high.

The side of a skyscraper on their starboard side erupted, shrapnel bursting toward them, the massive chunk now missing giving the appearance Godzilla had wandered across the Sea of Japan and taken a bite out of Japan’s neighbor to the west.

“Hang on!”

Wings banked sharply around another tower as the lead chopper took damage to its tail rotor, it immediately beginning a slow spiral downward. Red leaped from his seat and pressed against the window to see the decoy slam into the ground, smoke billowing from its tail. A door opened and the civilians and crew poured out, a fireball erupting moments later shoving them all off their feet.

“Are they okay?”

Red watched for a moment then saw them all begin to rise, apparently unscathed. “Yes, Mr. President, I think they all got out.” He activated his comm. “This is Evac Zero-Two to Control. Evac-Zero-One is down with survivors. Send ground transport to collect them and exfil to Evac Point Echo, over.”

“Roger that, Evac Zero-Two. Transport on its way. ETA ten mikes.”

Wings swung them hard to port, they now heading due south, threading between buildings in the business district, flames and smoke blocking their view at times, the city ablaze. It was something Red had thought he would never see in his lifetime—a modern, westernized city under artillery attack.

Scores of planes followed by attack helicopters were racing past them in the opposite direction, cruise missiles and rockets tearing toward the North Korean positions.

The South and their allies were responding with full force.

I wonder if ground forces are involved.

“Jesus! Look down there!”

Red looked toward where Wings was motioning and his eyes widened. Soldiers were in the street, firing at civilians.

North Korean soldiers.

“How the hell did they get here so fast?”

70

Unknown Location

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Explosions in the distance had Niner on his feet, collective gasps from the others with each impact confirming he wasn’t hearing things. He rushed toward the walls where the tables loaded with food and supplies sat, slamming his fist on the top.

Metal. Sturdy.

He tipped the closest over, dumping its contents, then pulled it toward the couches. He grabbed the glass table in the center and heaved it toward the door, it shattering on impact, exactly as it would have if the building took a direct hit. He positioned the metal table. “Quick, grab the tables and put them together!” Kim leaped to her feet, Nancy following but Niner snagged her by the arm, pushing her under the table he had just positioned. “Stay there!”

Nancy didn’t look happy, though complied, he leaving her and grabbing another table, Kim already dragging a second toward the center of the room, pushing it tightly against the first. With the others working together, they had a three-by-two rectangle of tables pressed together within minutes.

“Everybody under the tables now!” Niner spun one of the couches around and pushed it against the edge of the tables as the VIPs dropped to their knees and scurried underneath, Kim figuring out what he was doing and helping. They quickly had a soft, absorbent barrier surrounding their makeshift shelter. If they took a direct hit, they were dead, though if it was far enough away, they just might be protected enough to survive.

He held aside one of the couches, shoving Kim inside just as a shell hammered into the ground outside, the windows overhead shattering. He dove in after her as debris rained down on them, the glass and framing slamming into the metal tables only inches over their heads.

And it held.

He turned to Kim. “What the hell is going on out there?”

But the question had only one answer.

The North was attacking.

And their captors were no longer their greatest threat.

71

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Christ, we need to get the President out of there!”

Leroux shook his head at Child’s outburst. “No, forget him—that’s not our job. We need to figure out why whoever is behind this thinks we found him.”

Morrison burst into the room, staring at the displays showing the bombardment of Seoul. “It wasn’t one of our allies that found him.”

Leroux looked at his boss. “Are we sure?”

Morrison nodded, eyes still glued on the horror unfolding live before them. “The Vice President essentially told them that if we found out after the fact that they were the ones who put the hostages at risk, we’d take it personally.” He finally tore his eyes away and turned to Leroux. “Nobody knows who found him.”

Leroux cursed. “You don’t think it’s some private group?”

Morrison’s eyes narrowed. “What, like a news organization? Or Anonymous?”

Leroux and Morrison exchanged looks as their eyebrows rose. Leroux spun toward his team. “Okay, contact everyone you know. We need to find out if there’s some private initiative going on and stop them. They could have just triggered World War Three.”

72

Crawford Residence

Forest Hills, Washington, DC

“Have you seen the news?”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah.”

Clarence moaned. “Oh, man, this is so cool!”

“Yeah, look at that!” shouted Vic, pointing off-screen, all three of them watching CNN’s live coverage of the attack on Seoul. A skyscraper was collapsing, people jumping from the shattered windows, those on the ground screaming in terror as they sprinted uselessly out of the way, disappearing in a cloud of rolling dust and debris.

No one coming out the other end.

It reminded him of the footage he had seen in school of the 9/11 attacks. It had affected him, though not as much as this.

Today he had skin in the game.

Nancy.

Clarence echoed his thoughts. “It’s like that movie they showed us at school about the Twin Towers.”

“Yeah,” agreed Vic. “That was awesome! I would love to have been there!”

Jeff’s chest tightened with rage. “Then you’re an idiot! Three thousand people died that day and they didn’t do it for your amusement.”

“You’re such a buzzkill, dude. I’m just joking.”

“Yeah, well it isn’t funny.”

The dust was clearing, images of mangled bodies and walking wounded now playing live, unfiltered.

They all fell silent.

It was Vic that finally broke the silence, his voice subdued. “I guess you were right, man.”

“That looks like downtown New York,” whispered Clarence. “Those could be Americans.”

Jeff agreed, the pulverized concrete dust had instantly turned everyone chalk white, there no Asians, blacks or whites in these images from Seoul.

There were just people.

Innocent people.

All living a horror no one had thought would ever happen again.

“D-do you think we caused this?” asked Clarence.

Jeff froze, his heart slamming. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we pinged that IP address and like, not even five minutes later bombs are dropping.”

Jeff’s eyes shot wide open. “Oh my God! I-I don’t know.” His jaw snapped shut as he leaned back, gripping the stool between his legs. He stared at the others. “Man, what are we going to do?”

Vic leaped toward his keyboard. “I’m shutting down and wiping everything!”

“Me too!” cried Clarence, both their images disappearing, leaving Jeff alone.

He reached for his keyboard, about to do the same, when he stopped.

But what if we’re the only ones who know the truth?

73

Maggie Harris Residence

Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

They had been sitting for what felt like hours, glued to the television, their numbers having grown slightly as other wives from the Unit had arrived when they heard the news. There had been no further sightings of any of their men, though with the shelling of Seoul now underway, what had been a hostage situation where their loved ones would be perhaps participating in a rescue operation, was now an all-out war.

Maggie hadn’t really been worried when it was just a missing bus.

But now everything had changed. No matter how good the training, sometimes an artillery shell had your name on it, and there was nothing you could do.

Her stomach growled yet again and she decided she was finished with obsessing. She leaped to her feet, marching toward the kitchen. “Somebody start the barbecue. I’m not letting those hamburgers go to waste!”

Shirley rose. “Good idea. I’m going to go crazy if I watch any more of this. There’s nothing we can do about it, and they’re with the President, so they must be safe.”

Vanessa remained seated. “What makes you think that?”

“Because they evacuated to some city in the south hours ago.”

Maggie grabbed the tray of hamburgers that someone had wisely thought to put in the fridge then returned to the living room as Joanne turned off the television, pulling Vanessa to her feet. “Come on, Chef, don’t you want to cook your own burgers?”

Vanessa smiled weakly then giggled when Joanne gave her side a little tickle. “Come on, the big guy wouldn’t want you moping around. Feed us, Seymour! We’re hungry!”

74

Aboard Marine One

Over Seoul, Republic of Korea

Small arms fire ricocheted off the armored plating, North Korean troops inexplicably inside the city already. There was no way they had made it the 35 miles from the DMZ to the city in just minutes, and there were no reports of paratroopers.

This was a fifth column, already here.

A missile streaked toward them from the ground.

“Hang on!” shouted Wings, Red grabbing a handhold and reaching out to push Starling back into his seat, the man leaning out of it to see what was happening below. The WhiteHawk banked hard to port as chaff and flares deployed, the frame rattling with the rapid-fire dispersal. Red could see the third chopper behind them already dipped forward, pushing hard toward the missile and he felt his chest tighten as he witnessed the greatest sacrifice a soldier could make.

To give one’s life to save another.

The chopper erupted in a fireball as the missile struck, the fuel igniting. Their airframe shook with the shockwave, it unnoticed as everyone sat in silence, their final escort chopper dropping from the sky, almost in slow motion, as if time were nearly standing still.

He tore his eyes away in time to catch Starling wipe a tear from his cheek.

“They died performing their sworn duty.”

Starling frowned at him. “No one man is worth what just happened.”

Red shook his head. “They didn’t die for you, Mr. President. They died for what you represent. Their job is to defend the United States from all enemies, foreign and domestic. To protect our Constitution and our very way of life. The President of the United States represents all those ideals. Don’t diminish their sacrifice by thinking it was a waste. That insults their memory.”

Starling nodded slowly, still not happy about what he had witnessed, though perhaps better understanding why it had happened. It was one thing to order soldiers to their possible death; it was another to actually witness it happen.

And to see it done without hesitation, that pilot already pushing toward the path of the missile before Red had even turned to look, was humbling.

There had never been any doubt in the pilot’s mind as to what he was going to do.

He was going to save his President.

And die in the process.

No chaff had deployed, no flares.

The second chopper had to be the heat source, or the missile might still acquire Marine One.

Red closed his eyes for a moment, saying a silent prayer.

The entire chopper shook from a blast wave, Red’s eyes jerking open.

“Aww shit! Hang on!”

Wings pulled up hard, trying to kill their forward momentum, Red only getting a glimpse of a massive explosion ahead of them, shrapnel blasted into the air from the ground below. The undercarriage rattled as debris peppered them, alarms suddenly sounding in the cockpit.

“Fuel line’s cut!” shouted Wings. “We’re going down! Everyone brace for impact!”

Red reached forward, yanking Starling’s belts tight then checked his gear as Wings radioed in their situation.

“This is Marine One. Mayday, mayday, mayday. We are going down. Deploy rescue teams immediately to our current position. We have hostiles on the ground. Repeat, this is Marine One. Mayday, mayday, mayday.”

Red looked at the two Marines assigned to the chopper. “Everyone get ready. As soon as we come to a stop, open the doors, pop smoke, then secure the immediate area. We’ll get the President out. Watch for hostiles and look for cover away from the chopper. We’ll commandeer vehicles and head south. We can’t wait for rescue teams. Copy that?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Here we go!” shouted Wings from the cockpit as he continued to struggle to control their descent, his autorotation attempts only bleeding off some of their speed. “Hang on! Impact in three, two—”

The chopper slammed into the ground a moment earlier than his prediction, cutting him off. Metal screeched and twisted, the sound of the still rapidly spinning rotors slicing into the pavement was like something out of a horror movie as they tilted to their side. The chopper continued to slide forward before abruptly jerking to a halt, finally tipping over, coming to rest on something that left them at a 45-degree angle.

Wings immediately killed the power, taking command of the situation, this still his chopper. “Everyone out, now!”

Red unstrapped himself, leaning over and freeing the President, one foot resting on the side of the aircraft, the bullet resistant glass still holding. The two Marines yanked open the door on the opposite side, tossing smoke grenades through the opening, the distinctive pop and hiss accompanied by the sound of small arms fire in the distance and screams of panic from civilians. The massive bombardment continued unabated, the thunder of air power heading to the front still filling the skies as Red pulled himself through the hole, perching on what was once the floor of the WhiteHawk as he quickly surveyed the area, the Marines pushing out from the chopper, their weapons at the ready.

Local law enforcement continued to direct panicked civilians into shelters, mostly the extensive subway system under the city, it reminiscent of movies he had seen about London during the Blitz. Vehicles were abandoned everywhere, the streets gridlocked.

“There’s no way we’re getting out of here by vehicle.”

“Let me help you, Mr. President.”

Red turned to see Wings pull Starling toward the open door. Red reached out and took the President’s hand, pulling him up beside him before dropping to the ground, Wings taking over his perch. Starling dangled over the edge, Red reaching up and grabbing him under the armpits as Wings lowered the man to the ground. Wings took one last look inside before jumping down.

Red pointed to an alleyway nearby. “Good cover there! Let’s go! Now!”

They rushed forward, the team of four surrounding the President as they picked their way through the abandoned vehicles and debris from the massive explosion that had ultimately taken them out. They reached the alleyway unscathed and Red activated his comm.

“Control, Zero-Two. We’re on the ground, all intact. We are proceeding south on foot. Area is not secure, repeat, area is not secure.”

“Copy that, Zero-Two. Rescue crews from Osan are en route, ETA ten minutes.”

“Copy that, Zero-Two, out.”

Gunfire erupted from around the corner.

Too close.

“Okay, form up around the President. We’re going to move quickly and with purpose, using the buildings as cover. We’ll try to head as directly south as we can. Marines, you take point. Only engage the enemy if it’s absolutely necessary. We don’t want to draw any attention to us unless we have to.” He turned to Starling. “Mr. President, you ready for a good jog?”

Starling smiled. “Lead the way, Sergeant.”

“Two hostiles, nine o’clock!” hissed Wings.

Red’s head spun and he spotted two men in North Korean uniforms brandishing AKM assault rifles, rushing toward them.

No avoiding them.

“Drop ’em.”

Wings raised his MP5, squeezing off two rounds into the chest of the man on the left, Red doing the same to the one on the right, both dropping, no other shots fired.

Red signaled the advance. “Let’s move. They’ve probably got friends.”

75

Bangbae Real Estate

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Glad to see you’re okay!”

Jimmy waved at Dawson and Atlas as he jumped out of an SUV driven by a South Korean officer. He jogged over to them, a frown on his face. “Yeah, but I lost Niner.”

“He’s alive, so stop worrying about it.”

Jimmy didn’t seem willing to heed the advice. And Dawson didn’t blame him. One of their brothers was missing amid the chaos, and though he doubted the hostage takers would kill him just yet, he couldn’t be so sure about the North Korean artillery.

Though there was one thing certain.

It wasn’t Jimmy’s fault.

Though there’d be no convincing the proud warrior of that fact.

Niner and Jimmy were tight. Best of friends, on and off duty. They regularly visited with each other’s families, the Sung household in particular almost adopting Jimmy since his parents lived in Seattle, not exactly close to Bragg.

Jimmy pointed at the small office building in front of them. “Why are we here?”

Police were surrounding the building, Dawson about to answer as a tremendous low rumble overtook them. He turned to see a four-story office building across the street collapse in on itself, it having taken at least one direct hit, a Korean flag still fluttering from a tall pole, it obviously some sort of government installation.

Intentionally targeted.

He listened for a moment and was pretty sure the bombardment was easing slightly as the South Korean and American response slowly eliminated the North Korean positions. His more immediate concern was the apparent fifth column that North Korea had pre-positioned within the city. They were wreaking havoc in obvious preparation for a ground assault, and had his friends Red and Wings, not to mention the President, trapped, the air rescue aborted after it took heavy gun and rocket fire. A ground attempt was now underway.

If he and his team were to defuse this situation before it was too late, they’d have to act fast, there over six-hundred-thousand North Korean troops stationed along the border.

Dawson walked briskly toward the South Korean in charge. “What are we waiting for?”

“Warrant. Should be here any minute.”

“Screw that.” Dawson marched up the wheelchair ramp and into the lobby of the small complex, the windows blown out by the explosion across the street. Atlas, Spock, Jagger, and Jimmy followed, weapons at the ready, though Dawson expected little to any trouble.

This was a real estate company.

And if he had to hazard a guess as to the extent of their involvement, it would end at the rental of the warehouse where they had found the G20 bus, and wherever the hostages were now.

No more.

But it might be all they needed.

“Looks like nobody’s home,” rumbled Atlas.

Dawson pointed at a computer on what was probably the receptionist’s desk. “Get Langley hooked up.”

Jimmy immediately went to work as a shell landed outside, a little too close for comfort, several ceiling tiles shaking loose.

Someone cried out.

Inside.

Dawson and the others surged forward, he silently indicating to Jimmy to continue his work. They pushed through a set of intact glass doors, a large conference room to their right, on the inside wall, there no exterior windows. The room was dark, though there was enough ambient light to show at least several people huddled under a large conference table made of a thick, strong wood.

Good thinking.

“We’re American Federal Agents. Does anybody here speak English?”

Several shaky hands emerged, but nothing else.

Dawson dropped to a knee, pulling out his phone and bringing up the electronic transfer they had received. He stuck the phone under the table. “You received this transfer from somebody over a month ago. What was it for?”

He saw the phone passed about, chatter in Korean leaving him to once again wish Niner were here.

The phone reemerged.

“We rented them two properties. Warehouses.”

“Where?”

“I-I don’t know. I’d have to look at the files.”

“Then let’s go.”

“No.”

Dawson tapped the carpeted floor with his MP5. “Let me make one thing clear. You are coming out. Don’t make it the hard way.”

More Korean chatter then someone emerged, a young man Dawson was sure was barely twenty.

Low man on the totem pole.

He darted through the doors and down the hallway, Dawson and Atlas giving chase as he disappeared into an office. The sound of a filing cabinet opening, muttered phrases that Dawson was certain were curses, then a cry of victory. He reemerged, shoving a paper into Dawson’s hand then disappearing back under the table.

Dawson glanced at it, all the writing in Korean.

Atlas leaned over his shoulder. “We really need Niner.”

Dawson snapped a photo and sent it to Langley. “Control, Zero-One. Tell me what I’ve got here.”

“Stand by Zero-One.” There was a pause before another voice with a slight accent began to talk. “It’s two real estate transactions. Rentals.”

Dawson smiled at Atlas. “With addresses?”

“Yes.”

“Send them to my phone, Zero-One, out.” Dawson turned to leave though not before poking his head into the conference room. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

A meek, “You’re welcome”, the response.

Followed by something in Korean he was certain he didn’t want translated.

76

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“There’s a second shipment. We need to find out where it went.”

Leroux turned to Child who was already furiously running the new intel from Kane. Child muttered a curse.

“He’s right! I have a second shipment originating at the factory.”

“What’s supposed to be in it?”

Child shook his head. “It’s labeled as miscellaneous spare parts.”

Leroux knew spare parts wouldn’t excite Kane. “What aren’t you telling us, Dylan?”

“It’s automated weapons systems.”

Leroux’s chin dropped. “Are you kidding me?” He snapped his fingers at Child. “Where did they go?”

Child hit a few keys then shoved back from his desk. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Leroux motioned for the info, impatient. “Quickly.”

“They were shipped to the same private security company that received the large payment.”

Leroux dropped into his chair. “That can’t be good.”

Kane’s voice came in over the speaker. “Didn’t you just say that Delta is heading to that second rental address now?”

Leroux’s chest tightened. “Yes. ETA less than five minutes. The Koreans are providing choppers to bypass the gridlock and the hostiles on the streets. Ground troops are moving into Seoul from the southern districts to secure the city, but until then, ground travel isn’t safe.”

“Well, you better warn Delta that they may be about to drop into a world of hurt.”

Leroux motioned to Tong to relay the info, she immediately activating her comms. Leroux stared up at the ceiling. “Do you need evac?”

“Negative, there’s no way I’m getting into Seoul, not with what’s going on. I’ll use my contacts here to get out on my own.”

Leroux felt his chest tighten, though Kane was right. He was probably safer stuck in China than South Korea right now. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t worry about me, buddy, but tell the boss he might not hear from me for a couple of weeks, especially if a beach gets in my way.”

Leroux smiled. “Understood. Good luck.”

“You too, old friend.”

77

Unknown Location

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Niner was draped over Nancy, protecting her with his body should their makeshift shelter give way, Kim on the opposite side, her arm around the youngest victim. Niner’s hand rested on the back of Kim’s neck, he instinctively including her, the pounding outside eliciting yelps and cries from the others as he and Kim merely stared at each other, Nancy noticing and grinning at him.

He ignored her.

My God, she’s beautiful.

He didn’t know what it was attracting him to this woman he had just met. Perhaps it was the hormones raging through his system from the constant adrenaline rush, or maybe it was that he was painfully lonely, but there was something about Kim that he found irresistible.

You should find yourself a good Korean girl!

He smiled slightly at the memory of his mother’s advice at a recent family visit, repeated by his grandmother earlier today.

Maybe I’ll do just that.

Something caught his attention and he lifted his head slightly. “Everyone quiet!”

Cries turned into whimpers, it enough of an improvement for him to realize what he was hearing.

Drones.

Niner turned to peer through the cracks between the couches and cursed. He could see dozens of drones swarming over the walls of their Potemkin oasis, the barrels of their mounted weaponry painfully obvious.

They mean to end this.

“Everybody get as flat to the ground as you can, with your heads in the center, your legs toward the outside.”

“Why?” asked someone, others grumbling in protest at the apparently unreasonable request.

“Because if you get shot in the foot, it hurts, get shot in the head, you’re dead.”

Whimpers turned into sobs again, but the shuffle began in earnest, he once again draping himself over Nancy, his arm around Kim. She reached behind her and took his hand, interlacing their fingers together.

“I’ve been on worse first dates,” she said in Korean, smiling.

He squeezed her hand. “Definitely.”

The first shot fired and Kim squeezed her eyes shut.

And he kept staring at her.

At her beautiful, terrified face.

Come on guys, where the hell are you?

78

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Umm, sir, you’re going to want to hear this.”

Leroux looked up from his display at Child. “What is it?”

“The switchboard just put some kid through. He’s claiming he’s Nancy Starling’s boyfriend. He says he has information on who’s behind all this.”

Leroux’s eyes widened, the entire room coming to a halt. “Crank?”

Child motioned at the display at the front of the room, a bad high school photo ID appearing along with tombstone data and what appeared to be his life history. “His name is Jeffrey Crawford.”

Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Why do we have so much intel on a fifteen-year-old kid?”

“He was vetted by the Secret Service a few months ago.”

Leroux leaned back. “Huh. So he does know her.”

“It would appear so.”

“And we’re sure it’s him?”

“Can’t say for sure, but the Secret Service is heading to his address now.”

Leroux rose. “Then we better talk to him before they get there. Put him on speaker.”

Child tapped a few keys.

“Hello, is this Jeffrey?”

“Umm, yeah, Jeff. Is this the CIA?”

“Yes. Where do you go to school, Jeff.”

“Sidwell.”

Child gave a thumbs up.

“Okay, what information do you have for us?”

“Well, me and my friends found out where the original video was uploaded from and pinged the address.”

Leroux and the others exchanged excited glances. “Can you send us that information?”

“I already did. I used the contact form on your website but decided I better call in case that thing isn’t checked, you know, on a regular basis, like.”

Tong’s fingers flew over her keyboard and moments later she stuck her chin out toward the display, the online submission appearing.

Leroux smiled at the batch of four sets of digits. “Okay, thank you, Jeff, we’ll take it from here.”

“Umm, can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“D-did we start a war?”

Probably, kid.

“No, son, you didn’t. But thanks to you, you might have just helped stop one.”

79

Seocho District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Red peered around the corner, four hostiles at the far end of the block. He checked the opposite direction, finding it clear. He turned to the others.

“We need to cross, but we can’t risk it from here.” He pointed at Wings. “Go back a block, fire two rounds, then double back. That might get their attention.”

“Roger that.” Wings sprinted toward the street they had just crossed and fired the two rounds. Red watched as two of the four North Koreans broke off, rushing north, using the street one block over from them.

He smiled.

“That’s two down.”

The other two began to run toward their position, in an apparent attempt to cut off from two directions whoever had fired the shots.

Perfect.

He motioned for everyone to move back as he held his position, listening for the approaching footfalls, the streets mostly devoid of people now, the artillery barrage waning.

Twenty feet?

He stepped out, spraying them with gunfire, the two surprised men grabbing their stomachs as they stumbled, their momentum carrying their dying bodies forward.

He turned to the others. “Let’s go!”

80

Yangcheon District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“There it is!”

Dawson leaned forward in the chopper, the Korean pilot pointing toward a steel-frame warehouse surrounded by a large paved area, the industrial zone apparently designed to deal with large rigs, none in evidence around their destination.

“Keep your eyes peeled for automated defenses!” he shouted over the roar of the rotors. “You know how I hate that shit!”

“Copy that!” shouted Atlas, chuckling. After their experience in Iceland recently, they had all had enough of automated weapons systems with a mind of their own.

Dawson checked the area, no civilians in evidence, several buildings smoldering from damage, others fully involved, the south side parking lot of their destination showing signs of a near miss, a large crater torn in the middle of the asphalt. He surveyed the roof of the building as they approached, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, just a lot of broken windows. There were several large garbage cans, and what appeared to be utility boxes, probably electrical or telecom, dotting the area.

Nothing out of place.

Where the hell are they?

All they knew was that they had been shipped, and nothing more. Korean authorities were raiding the private security firm now, but justice wasn’t his team’s goal.

Rescue was.

And he had little doubt the hostages were inside the building toward which they were racing.

The only question now was what would be there to greet them.

Something moved.

His head spun to the left and he cursed as the top of one of the dull gray utility boxes popped open, a Samsung SGR-A1 robot sentry suddenly appearing. “Evasive maneuvers, now!”

The pilot banked hard to starboard as the weapon opened up on them, tearing through the tail, sending them into a flat spin. Dawson caught a glimpse of the second chopper with additional South Korean forces breaking off, thankfully avoiding the fire, banking behind a nearby warehouse.

His team, however, wasn’t going to be so lucky, the pilot struggling to maintain control. He spun toward his passengers. “Bail!”

You don’t have to ask me twice!

The doors were already open in preparation for a rapid assault. Dawson stepped out onto the skid, reaching in and grabbing Atlas, helping the big man out of his seat as the buffeting chopper knocked him backward. He yanked Atlas through the door and the skilled operator hit the ground, rolling to absorb the shock as Dawson continued to pull the others out before bailing himself.

He rolled, quickly regaining his feet then sprinted toward the chopper as it slammed into the ground, the copilot jumping clear only moments before. The twisting, screeching mass of metal spun, the cockpit suddenly facing him as he rushed forward, the pilot struggling to free himself when he heard a steady stream of gunfire from his left.

It was the automated system, its target reacquired.

Bullets tore through the cockpit, the brave pilot shaking from the impacts of the penetrating rounds before a massive fireball erupted in all directions, knocking Dawson off his feet. Powerful hands lifted him up then dragged him out of the line of fire, the weapon system choosing soft targets now that it had eliminated the chopper. The copilot was quickly shredded, the poor bastard having survived the crash of his helicopter only to be mowed down by a faceless enemy.

Dawson and Atlas dove the last few feet, slamming into the side of a nearby warehouse across from their target as lead chewed up the asphalt behind them. Dawson leaped to his feet, pressing his back against the metal wall as the other side of the corner took a momentary beating before the weapon fell silent.

Spock hauled Atlas to his feet. “Christ, how many of those are there?”

Dawson brushed himself off. “I counted at least half a dozen of those boxes surrounding the facility, which matches the intel on the second shipment. If they’re all A1s, we’re going to have a hell of a time getting inside. Those puppies are designed to defend the DMZ.”

Weapons fire was suddenly heard, single shots, followed by screams.

From women.

Dawson peered across the pavement at their target.

“At least we know we’re in the right location.”

But if those are drones firing, we might be too late.

81

Seocho District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Starling’s phone rang in his pocket, it disturbingly distinct in the war zone surrounding them. He fumbled for it as Red spun toward him.

“Sir, put that on vibrate!”

Starling quickly took the call, ending the position-betraying racket. “Hello?”

“Mr. President, I thought you’d like to hear your daughter die.”

The sounds of gunfire and screaming women filled his ear and he felt his legs give out, he slamming to the ground, the excruciating pain in his knee unnoticed as he fell on a jagged piece of concrete. “Please, I’ll do anything!”

“You’ll finish the transfers?”

“Yes.”

“Immediately?”

“I’m in the middle of a war zone. I-I can’t do anything—”

“Allow me.”

There was a clicking sound then a ring.

“Who is this?”

Starling immediately recognized his Vice President’s voice. “Jack, it’s me.

“Jesus, Jacob, are you okay?”

“Yes. No time to talk. Begin transferring the money into the accounts, now!”

“Are you sure you want to do this? It sets a dangerous prec—”

“Do it or they’re going to kill them all!”

“Very well, Mr. President. I’m authorizing the transfers now.”

There was a beep then the call cut off.

“Hello?”

“Very good, Mr. President. You might just have saved your daughter’s life.”

82

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Okay, here we go.”

Leroux watched as the display showing the accounts they were monitoring began to update, partial balance transfers going into each one as funds slowly trickled in, the pace increasing as the staff at Treasury and here at Langley coordinated their efforts to transfer over three billion dollars in the next several minutes.

He turned to Tong. “Where are we on the verifications?”

“They’ve all checked out so far, sir, except one that I’m running further checks on.”

Leroux stepped over to her station. “Which one?”

“Maritime Defense League. They’re legit, but this account was opened in their name just recently, and has a different address from the one listed on their website.”

Leroux’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the display, the Maritime Defense League already showing a balance in the millions, it still ticking up, it now over fifteen million. “How much was requested?”

“If the others match, then it will be almost ninety-seven million.”

Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Our GDP is about twenty-two percent of the G20 total, right?”

“Yes.”

“How much did they request from just us?”

“About twenty-two million.”

Leroux shook his head. “No, the exact number.”

Tong put the number on up the display.

$22,105,202.90

Leroux tapped his chin. “Why does that number look familiar?”

“Because you’re a freak? Who the hell remembers a number like that?”

Leroux gave Child a look, his underling grinning sheepishly. “Bring up the file on Riker. How much did he lose when the President canceled all his contracts?”

Child’s fingers of redemption flew as he brought up the information.

He gasped, staring at his boss in awe. “You are a freak!”

“How much?”

“Based upon the number of shares he held and the opening price of Riker Defensive Systems stock that morning…” He motioned at the screen, the number appearing under the one Tong had just posted.

$22,105,202.90

Leroux smiled.

Now I know who you are.

83

Unknown Location

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Someone cried out in pain, their agony obvious even over the near constant barrage of gunfire and screams from those trapped under the tables. So far, their shelter had not only protected them from the bombing outside but the bullets as well. Though many of the rounds were finding their way through, the drones had an obvious design flaw.

They couldn’t shoot low, or downward.

He had watched as the operator had tried to angle one of the drones to fire at about a forty degree down angle and it had merely flipped over from the added weight of the weapon, falling uselessly to the floor. They then tried to lower one close to the floor and fire under the couches, yet it too proved unstable, the downdraft from the propellers causing it to bob and weave, making aiming impossible.

If they kept their heads down, they only had to worry about lucky shots and ricochets.

And unfortunately, someone’s luck had just run out.

“Who’s hit?”

“Moi!”

Niner crawled over to the French woman. “Where?”

“My foot!”

Niner flipped around, his head now a juicy target, in fact his entire body one since he had given his body armor to Nancy. He checked the woman’s feet, she lucky to be wearing a thick-soled shoe, obviously designed for both fashion and comfort, a day of walking originally planned. Her left heel was split, blood evident. He gently removed the shoe, her leg jumping with either genuine pain or anticipated pain.

It was just a scratch.

Or at least a scratch to a soldier used to combat. If this had happened in a civilian situation, she would probably be rushed to the hospital for stitches. He pulled a field dressing from his utility belt and wrapped it around her foot to staunch the mild bleeding, then crawled up beside her. “Just a scratch, nothing to worry about.” He grinned at her. “Nice shoes! They probably saved your life!”

She smiled weakly, appearing relieved. “Merci, that’s exactly why I bought them.”

Niner laughed and patted her on her back. “Keep your head down and you’ll be fine.” He crawled back to his former position, replacing Kim who had been lying atop Nancy while he was away. “Everyone still okay?”

Nancy grunted. “Feeling a little squished.”

“Better than a bullet wound.”

“Tell that to my breasts.”

Kim giggled, smiling at Niner. “You have to be a woman to understand.”

Niner squeezed one of his boobs. “I guess so.”

Nancy laughed as the gunfire abruptly stopped. Niner glanced behind him to see the drones still hovering beyond the now torn apart couches.

“Everybody stay down, they could start firing again at any moment.”

Kim rolled over onto an elbow. “Are they out of ammo?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it, not so soon.” He listened, the shelling of the capital continuing outside, there no explanation for why the drones had stopped their attack. He turned to Kim. “Something else is going on.”

84

Unknown Location

Grant Riker watched the camera footage from several of the drones on a large array of screens spread before him. He had to admit, reluctantly, that he was impressed with what the Special Forces operator had done. The low profile made it difficult for the drones to shoot their targets, they needing a minimum clearance off the ground.

He now regretted ordering the metal tables. His aim had been to prevent the hostages from starting a fire that might be used to signal for help, he instructing the private security company he had hired to use only fire retardant materials when building the tiny oasis for his hostages.

That had backfired, though perhaps not. If he had succeeded in killing the hostages, then the millions now pouring into the accounts wouldn’t be happening. Part of him had hoped that bastard Starling would fail, though right now, it appeared he might succeed.

Brilliantly.

Yet in the end, it wouldn’t matter.

Nancy Starling was going to die.

He would have his revenge.

With the exception of them somehow identifying his computer, everything had gone according to plan. He had used the illegal sales of his canceled prototypes to fund the operation, it taking a few million to actually execute. The payoff would be many times that amount, and even if it failed, money wasn’t his only motive.

And the environment absolutely wasn’t one of them.

Though he did have to admit the charities would prove useful idiots now that funds were actually arriving in their accounts, appearing as donations from the United States government. The PR disaster that awaited the President when they tried to get the money back might be worth sacrificing the billions to avoid.

Hang Jian had come through on the drones and their weaponization, as he had fully expected. He had been recommended by the people who had handled the black market sale of the supposedly destroyed prototypes, Riker keeping enough in reserve for his plan, a plan that had been under development for over a year, a plan he had designed so he alone, the only person left in his life that he could trust, could execute it.

He watched the balance of the shadow account he had set up rapidly increase. With the chaos now raining down on Seoul, and the President foolishly remaining in the city, his only fear now was that Starling may be killed and the transfers reversed.

It was a gamble, but he had to wait for it to hit the exact amount he wanted. He had lost a fortune after that bastard had destroyed the company he had built from the ground up, his life’s work lost because he had tried to make a profit off of weapons he had designed. Who was Starling, an unelected president, to say that he had to destroy the prototypes? He had spent millions developing them, and the compensation he had received was a pittance to what they were truly worth. Law enforcement agencies around the world would have lined up to purchase them, but Starling, inexplicably, had ordered their complete destruction, claiming that since they were designed specifically for the Secret Service, they owned them, even the patents.

It was bullshit.

But in a nation still reeling from the attempted coup that had led to their rapid development, the courts were eager to side with their new President in his challenge.

So Riker had taken matters into his own hands.

He had destroyed them on paper.

He had pled ignorance when it was discovered, but unfortunately the White House didn’t buy his story, instead canceling all his company’s contracts without just cause—eight billion dollars’ worth—and with the US government providing over 90% of his revenues, it had bankrupted him overnight. The moment the news hit the wires, his stock collapsed to mere pennies before noon.

He was ruined.

It had destroyed his company.

Destroyed his family.

And destroyed him.

And President Starling would feel his pain, a pain so great it could never be escaped, or forgotten.

He would suffer the same loss as him.

Today.

85

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Sir, I think we’ve got a problem.”

Leroux turned to Tong. “What?”

“Well, I’ve just been reviewing Riker’s file and, well, something happened about six months ago that might explain what’s going on.”

Leroux pursed his lips, unsure he was going to like what he was about to hear. “What?”

“His daughter, sir. After they lost everything in the bankruptcy, his wife left him and took their teenage daughter with her. There was a custody battle but he lost.”

Leroux’s head bobbed, pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. “Go on.”

“Well, his daughter apparently fell in with the wrong crowd and was shot during a drug deal in Miami.”

Leroux cursed. “He’s got nothing to live for!”

Child turned in his chair. “Then why go for the money?”

“Why not? He gets the President to pay billions in ransom for his daughter, a number too big to hide, and it destroys his career, just like Riker’s was destroyed. Then he kills the President’s daughter so the President can feel the pain he feels.”

Child whistled. “Christ, you mean he has no intention of letting her go?”

Leroux shook his head. “I don’t think so. The moment that account reaches the total he wants, he kills her.” Leroux glanced at the screen, the balances updating, the Maritime Defense League balance suddenly rolling to the exact amount ordered for the American contribution. “Shit. Looks like we’ve completed our part.” He sighed. “I don’t think he’s going to wait for the rest.”

The balance suddenly updated again.

To zero.

Leroux shook his head. “Sometimes I hate being right.”

86

Yangcheon District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Zero-One, Control Actual. They’ve drained the account.”

Dawson pressed the comm against his ear. “Has there been any communication since they did?”

“Negative. This is personal. They’re going to kill the President’s daughter, no matter what. You’ve got to get in there.”

Dawson peered around the corner, ducking back as the sentry’s gun whipped toward him. “We’re a little outgunned at the moment. We’re waiting for reinforcements. There’s no way we’re getting past those automated guns with MP5s and half a dozen men. Not in time.”

Gunfire erupted from inside the warehouse again, Dawson exchanging a concerned look with Atlas.

“Control, they’ve opened fire again. You’ve got to disrupt their kill chain. These weapons are being controlled by someone. Cut their lines of communications or the hostages are dead!”

“Everyone stay down! No matter what happens, keep your heads down!”

Niner reached over and grabbed Kim’s hand, squeezing it. She stared at him, fear and determination in her eyes. Then smiled.

“So, when this is all over, would you like to go grab a coffee somewhere?”

Kim’s eyes popped. “Are you crazy? Guns are firing and we might die, and you’re asking me out on a date?”

Niner shrugged. “Doesn’t that make it seem like you’re very important to me?” He grinned. “And besides, can you think of anything better to do right now?”

Kim laughed, the fear gone. “Are all Americans insane like you?”

“Only the handsome ones.”

Nancy groaned. “Oh man, adults are sooo weird.”

Niner gave her a look. “Enough out of you, young lady.” He returned his attention to the vision in front of him. “So, what do you say? Coffee?”

Kim shook her head, Niner’s heart breaking just a little. “No, but I’ll cook you dinner.”

Niner beamed. “Even better. I’ll bring the wine and the good time.”

Kim rolled her eyes. “I’m thinking I might be regretting—”

She was silenced as a ricochet rang off a metal table leg then slammed into the side of her head.

She dropped.

“Yunhui!”

87

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“What did that kid’s email tell us? A cellphone tower was pinged on the western coast of South Korea?”

Child nodded. “Yeah, it looks like the source video was uploaded via satellite link except for a few bytes of data that were sent through this tower.” He motioned toward the display, a map of the Korean coast shown with a small, pulsing red circle indicating the tower’s range.

Leroux stepped toward the display. “Okay, so they didn’t think they had a cell link, but for a brief moment they did. If we look at ideal conditions, favorable atmospheric bounce, whatever, what’s the max range that they could have possibly connected from?”

The red circle expanded.

“Okay, so we assume they’re not on land, otherwise they would have had a constant cellular connection, and they would have intentionally shut that capability down on their equipment so they’d use the untraceable satellite. What does that leave us with?”

The part of the circle covering land blacked out.

“Okay, so now assume they were far enough out that they expected this tower couldn’t be reached.”

A little bit more disappeared.

“Okay, we’ve still got some serious real estate there. Get me the Director, we’ll need to get some assets in the area to start looking for them.”

Child immediately lifted his phone to make the call.

“But what about the signal?” asked Tong. “If they’re at sea, they’re still directing those drones by satellite.”

Child covered the mouthpiece of his phone. “Umm, no they’re not.”

Tong turned to look at him. “What do you mean? They have to be.”

Child shook his head. “No, those drones have been modified to work on the cellular network. Remember, we’ve already examined a few of the ones that were shot down. Riker is using his satellite connection to connect to the South Korean cellular network, and the data is then being transmitted through that.”

Leroux’s head bobbed. “So shut down their cellular network, and we disrupt the kill chain.”

Tong’s eyes widened. “Can we do that?”

Child cracked his knuckles. “Challenge accepted.”

88

Yangcheon District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Dawson shoved a grenade into the M203 launcher attached to his MP5 and leaned out, firing at the nearest automated weapons platform before stepping back immediately behind the wall providing cover. An explosion shook the ground, the belching lead abruptly stopped.

He grinned at Atlas. “Care to see if I got it?”

“Umm, no. I think it’s Spock’s turn.”

“No, effin’ way,” was Spock’s reply over the comms.

“Hey, I was the one left outside in Iceland to deal with these damned things last time.”

“Not my fault you’ve got ample hips and couldn’t fit in the air duct.”

“Again with my hips.”

“At least I didn’t mention your momma’s.”

“Or your sister’s!” added Jagger.

Atlas glared through the walls to the other side of the warehouse where Spock and Jagger were stationed. “Skulls. Cracking. Pain!”

Dawson grinned and poked his head out, relieved to find the platform a smoking slab of twisted metal. “Okay, ladies, it’s done. Spock, are you in position?”

“Roger that.”

“Fire.”

Another explosion from the opposite end of the parking lot signaled the end of a second platform. With three on the opposite side of the building, there was only one left to worry about.

Unfortunately, the only way to hit it was to expose themselves.

Dawson slapped another grenade into the launcher. “Okay everyone, remember the plan. I’m going to head straight for the first dead platform at this side. Jagger, five count, then you cross in front of the building. The third platform should already be tracking me. Take your shot. As soon as he takes his shot, the rest of you follow and if necessary, take yours. And if you all miss, you’re fired. Understood?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major!”

Dawson gripped his MP5 tightly, taking a deep breath. “Okay, proceed in three… two… one… Execute!” He sprinted from the safety of the side of the opposing warehouse, racing toward the smoking remains of the first platform he had eliminated. To his right he finally got an angle on the third platform as it acquired him, positioned between its two dead buddies.

At the far end he spotted Jagger racing along the front of the building, the sentry taking no notice of him as it opened up on Dawson. He dove the final few feet, rolling in behind the sturdy metal housing of the wrecked automated weapons platform.

And the surviving platform immediately adjusted.

Swinging its turret toward the exposed Jagger.

“Get down!”

Jagger dove, rolling on the ground as the metal doors of the warehouse were shredded, hundreds of rounds tearing it apart as Dawson took a knee and fired at the platform. The grenade slammed into the base, rocking the entire installation, though not silencing the weapon.

Dawson immediately began to reload as a second explosion rocked the area, the gun silenced, Atlas stepping out into the open with a strut that demanded We Are The Champions be played on a boombox somewhere.

“You okay?” Dawson shouted to Jagger who rolled onto his back, raising an arm and giving a thumbs up.

“Not sure yet. Think so.”

Spock jogged over and pulled the man to his feet, any frivolity silenced as the gunfire and screams inside their target were now audible with the sentries silenced.

“Let’s move!”

Niner reached over and checked for a pulse, breathing a sigh of relief as he detected one. He pushed Kim’s hair aside, it matted with blood, then felt his chest tighten as he pulled his fingers away, brain matter evident. He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head onto Nancy’s shoulder, the young girl already crying as she stared at the nearly dead woman beside her.

He sucked in a breath and buried his emotions deep, a rage building within that demanded attention. He pushed himself up on his elbows when Nancy grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?”

He stopped, there no reasonable response.

“Get down!” she cried.

He complied when suddenly the gunfire stopped, quickly followed moments later by clattering sounds.

Then nothing.

Not even a whir of the drones’ blades.

“What just happened?” asked someone.

Niner quickly spun around, peering between the couches and smiled.

All the drones were down, some piled on others, their rotors quickly coming to a rest.

“Okay, everyone out, now!” He kicked the nearest couch out of the way then scrambled out, pulling Nancy and the first couple of hostages out before pulling a gun off one of the drones and shooting the lone door’s lock off. It swung open and he stepped through to find the warehouse empty save the car he and Kim had arrived in, and the box van that had transported the hostages.

And dozens of drones, lying on the ground, dead.

He sprinted toward the large doors to the right and pressed the button to open them, the motor overhead roaring to life, the heavy doors rising. As the light from the fading sun of a day from hell grew, his chest tightened as he saw a group of long shadows rushing toward them.

He raised his weapon, he finally about to meet who was behind this.

“Lightfoot!”

He smiled. “Thunderclap!”

He lowered his weapon as Dawson, Spock, Jagger and Atlas came into view, Jimmy on their tail.

Thank God!

He turned toward the hostages, still cowering inside. “Let’s go, now!” He waved them through as the others arrived, taking charge.

“What happened?” asked Dawson as he stared at the downed drones.

Niner shook his head. “No idea. They just dropped. But let’s get to some cover before they change their mind.”

“Roger that.” Dawson turned to the women. “Let’s move, people!” His bark had the ladies yelping, though he detected excitement rather than fear.

They had been saved.

Minutes too late.

He jogged back inside, crawled under the table, and gently lifted Kim off the floor. He carefully maneuvered his way out from under their makeshift shelter, then carried her through the door and out of the warehouse as he watched choppers begin to set down several hundred feet away, the others all safely clear of the building.

He leaned in and pressed his nose against hers. “Hang on, baby, we haven’t even had our first date yet.”

89

Off the Coast of South Korea, Yellow Sea

Grant Riker slammed his fist on the console.

“Clever. Very clever.” He sneered. “But not clever enough.”

He moved his mouse and double-clicked on an icon, a subroutine launched for just such an occasion. A satellite signal was sent to a relay station he had installed at the warehouse for this eventuality, it attached to its own cellular tower.

It was just a matter of time.

His stomach gurgled.

He gripped it, feeling a little green, the open seas never his idea of a good time, and now that they were skipping across the waves, heading full speed for Chinese waters, his stomach was doing backflips.

But that was all forgotten the moment the first camera activated.

Then another.

And the rest.

As they began to hover, he tapped on one of the thumbnail images, a view expanding, the Asian Special Forces soldier walking out of the warehouse carrying the Korean woman in his arms.

“Time for everyone to die.”

He double-clicked on another icon.

Launching hundreds of fully armed drones.

90

Yangcheon District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

Dawson held a hand against his forehead, shielding his eyes from the evening sun. And frowned. Niner had just emerged carrying what appeared to be a lifeless body. He squinted, trying to make out who it was, glancing over at the ladies climbing into the choppers.

Who’s missing?

Then it dawned on him.

The South Korean officer, Kim.

“He asked her out.”

Dawson’s head spun toward Nancy Starling, she having slipped away from the group of older women. “Excuse me?”

“He asked her out, you know, like on a date.” She smiled, a sad, wistful one. “The drones were shooting at us, everyone was screaming, and he asked her out.” Tears filled her eyes. “Wh-who does that?”

Dawson smiled. “He does.”

She nodded, a tear escaping down each cheek. “He’s so awesome.”

Dawson looked at his friend, the pain on his face clear. “He definitely is.”

“And you know, he’s not gay.”

Dawson stared at her, his eyes wide. “Huh?”

Her face paled, a shaky hand pointing toward Niner. Dawson turned and gasped as dozens of drones emerged through the open doors.

Followed by hundreds more.

“Get down!”

Niner glanced behind him and cursed, dropping to his knees, placing Kim on the ground as gently as he could as he threw his body over hers. The drones opened fire, some tilting forward as they gained speed, giving their weapons a chance to get an angle on them, dozens of rounds ricocheting off the pavement.

He hugged her and squeezed his eyes shut as he placed a gentle, first kiss on her forehead.

“Looks like neither of us are getting out of this.”

“Open fire!”

Dawson took a knee and set his MP5 to full auto, belching lead at the wall of drones, the others doing the same. Drone after drone dropped, but there were just too many.

Atlas shuffled over beside him, firing a grenade over Niner’s head and into the entrance. “How the hell are they being controlled? I thought Langley killed the cell network?”

Dawson activated his comm, continuing to fire. “Control, Zero-One! We’re under attack by the drones. I thought you took out the cell network, over!”

“We did, Zero-One. It’s still down. They must have set up a satellite relay. Look for a tower, probably on the roof of the warehouse. Something that looks out of place.”

Dawson scanned the roof, spotting an array of antennae with a small dish aimed skyward. “Got it. Stand by.” He turned to the others. “Take out that tower at the one-four corner!”

All firepower immediately redirected, Dawson slapping a grenade into his launcher and firing, Atlas doing the same, both hitting the corner of the building as the drones swept over Niner, toward their position.

And the hostages.

They’re targeting the girl.

The tower tilted, the corner weakened, yet the drones continued.

“Hit it again!” he ordered as he reloaded, Spock and Jimmy firing. The first round blasted apart the wall, the second hitting the tower square on, ripping it to shreds. The drones abruptly lost altitude, slamming into the ground and skidding toward them before coming to a halt.

Dawson leaped to his feet. “Destroy them all while we’ve got the chance!” He switched to semi-auto and advanced, putting two rounds into each of the drones as his team spread out, forming a line, making sure not a single drone escaped their retribution.

As they approached Niner’s position, he looked at his friend who was now on his knees, checking the Korean woman’s pulse.

His shoulders slumped.

Oh no!

Niner slowly turned Kim’s lifeless face toward him, brushing the hair from her eyes, tears welling in his own. He barely knew her, yet there had been a connection there, probably artificial, created by the adrenaline of the situation, though it didn’t make it any easier. The gunfire around him was mere thuds, as if he were at the bottom of a pool of anguish, the real world above the surface, a surface that right now he had no interest in participating in.

Someone grabbed his shoulder.

Dawson.

“You okay?”

Niner shook his head. “I’ll live.”

Dawson knelt and checked Kim’s pulse for himself, confirming what he already knew. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

Jimmy rushed over and cursed as he saw her body. “Oh, dude, I’m sorry.”

Niner inhaled deeply and rose, tearing his eyes away, instead focusing on Dawson. “Do we know who’s behind this?”

Dawson smiled slightly. “We do now. His name’s Grant Riker.”

The thirst for revenge grew a thousand fold in the pit of his stomach, hatred written on his face.

“Nobody touches him but me.”

91

Seocho District

Seoul, Republic of Korea

“Look!”

Red spun toward where Wings was pointing and smiled, a large contingent of South Korean regulars moving toward them. He handed his weapon to one of the Marines then stepped out from their cover, hands up high, smile on his face, as he tried to look as far from threatening as possible.

“I am Special Agent Grey, United States Secret Service. I have the President of the United States with me. We require assistance.”

A Major stepped forward as a dozen weapons were trained on Red, more troops surging into the area, taking up covering positions, gun battles raging across the city, the artillery barrage continuing, though abating. The Major spoke into his radio as several tracked Armored Personnel Carriers rumbled into the intersection. He nodded to no one, then stepped toward Red.

“Agent Grey, I have orders to escort you to Evac Point Echo. American forces are waiting there.” He snapped an order in Korean, the weapons immediately redirected at the buildings surrounding them, snipers a concern. He shouted something else and one of the APCs rolled forward then suddenly spun around, its rear ramp lowering. “Please.” He motioned toward the armored vehicle.

Red turned to the others, Starling pressed into the side of a building by his team, a human shield several bodies deep. “Let’s move, now! Into the back of the APC!”

Wings grabbed Starling by the arm and they rushed forward, the rest providing cover as the South Koreans joined in, flesh, bravado, and Red’s body armor, protecting the most powerful man on Earth as they rushed toward the gaping rear of the APC.

Gunshots rang out at the end of the street and the South Koreans returned a heavy stream of fire as they pressed forward. Red took up position at the rear of the APC as Wings shoved Starling inside, pushing him all the way to the back as the Marines piled in, Red last, the APC immediately rolling forward as the ramp closed.

Red activated his comm. “Control, Zero-Two. Everclear is secure, I repeat, Everclear is secure. We are proceeding to Evac Point Echo, over.”

“Copy that, Zero-Two. Hostages have been secured, all alive.”

Smiles were exchanged when Red realized that the President didn’t have comms. He leaned toward the man, the APC tracks loud on the pavement. “Mr. President, they’ve rescued your daughter!”

Starling’s eyes closed and his shoulders slumped as he fell back against the hard metal. His lips moved silently, a prayer of thanks probably just recited. He opened his eyes. “The others?”

“Everyone’s safe.”

“Thank the Lord.”

“Amen, sir. I’ll try to arrange a call with your daughter as soon as possible.”

Starling nodded, tears of relief escaping, the man finally allowed to be a father, the others turning away to give him as much privacy as one could in such confined quarters.

They had all been there.

There was no privacy in a foxhole.

Nor the rear of a K200 Armored Personnel Carrier.

Red activated his comm. “Control, do we know who’s behind all this?”

“Affirmative, Zero-Two. You’ll be briefed upon arrival at Evac Point Echo.”

“Good. Just make sure whoever’s going after them doesn’t leave without us.” He stared at the others. “I think it’s payback time.”

92

Operations Center 1

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“The money?”

Child shook his head. “Gone. Like we suspected, it’s already been transferred to a dozen different accounts, then each of those to another dozen. Proxies have already withdrawn the money and probably taken their cut, then deposited it into new accounts we have no way to trace.”

Leroux shook his head. “That’s how it’s done. Textbook.”

“Yeah,” muttered Child. “I guess selling weapons on the black market teaches you a trick or two.”

Leroux agreed. “At least it’s only twenty million. Even if we can’t get it back, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Do you think they’ll ask for the other three billion back?”

Leroux shrugged. “I’d hope so.”

Director Morrison entered the operations center. “Do we have him?”

Leroux rose, pointing at the display, an image from a drone showing a large yacht racing west toward Chinese waters. “That’s him there. We were able to narrow it down. Turns out it belongs to the owner of the Chinese drone manufacturer.”

“Huh. So he lied.”

“Liars gonna lie.”

Morrison and Leroux both gave Child a look, the young analyst immediately burying his head in his workstation.

“I’m a little surprised Kane didn’t pick up on it.”

“He’s got a stomach flu. Food poisoning or something.”

“That might explain it.” Morrison motioned toward the screen. “Fill him in. I have a funny feeling he’s going to take it personally.”

Leroux smiled. “I’m sure he will.”

93

Somewhere on the Yellow Sea

Grant Riker smiled as he read the confirmation messages. His money was secure, all twenty-plus million less a ten percent fee. And once the true story broke, after he had disappeared, Starling’s credibility would be destroyed.

Though his daughter would survive.

It was unfortunate, but destroying the man’s credibility would be enough.

For now.

He had avenged his daughter, and would now disappear, pull together the necessary contacts, then eliminate the little bundle of joy in good time.

Starling would feel what he felt.

And that day would come when he least expected it.

Though his plan had failed in that respect, it now gave him a new opportunity to personalize the torment even further.

He’d have Nancy Starling killed in front of her father, so her final moments would be burned in that bastard’s memory for time eternal.

He activated a routine on his terminal, wiping everything so there’d be no evidence that this had been his headquarters. He’d advise Hang to destroy the equipment so there’d be no hope of ever finding the IP address they had pinged.

Though should they somehow have found the boat, it didn’t matter.

For he had a surprise for Starling, this no simple yacht.

This was a superyacht.

And should they not reach the safety of Chinese waters, it wouldn’t matter.

Hang’s toys would save him.

94

Evac Point Echo

South of Seoul, Republic of Korea

Starling held out his hand and a Marine pulled him into the back of a Black Hawk helicopter waiting for them. The Delta team that had saved him were nearby, there a heavy American and South Korean presence south of the capital.

A capital that burned.

Flames licked the night sky, the destruction devastating, the stars blotted out by the heavy smoke. He had no idea what the casualties were, though they had to be in the thousands, if not far worse. He was out of the loop, desperate to know what was happening, though if the airpower overhead was any indication, the North was continuing to take a pounding.

“Mr. President, I have a call for you.”

He took the headset offered by the Marine and fit it over his head, adjusting the mouthpiece, the others in the chopper curiously removing theirs.

Classified briefing?

“Hello, this is the President.”

“Daddy!”

His head dropped and he felt his shoulders heave. Though he knew she was safe, he hadn’t dared believe it—not completely. But she was alive, the last thing that kept him going in this chaotic world was alive, and from the little he knew, it was the Delta team he had to thank.

“Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine. We’re in a helicopter. I’m not sure where we’re going, but they said I’d see you soon. A-are you okay?”

He smiled. “Yes, not a scratch. I’m in a helicopter too. Let’s hope we’re both going to the same place. And when we get on Air Force One, we’re eating nothing but apple pie and ice cream!”

Nancy giggled, it warming his heart, it the only joy he had felt all day, the happy sound of a man’s child all he needed to make the ills of the world fade into the background, if only for that moment.

It was a good moment.

The best.

If only Melanie were here to share it.

He pushed the depression away, focusing on the positive.

“Daddy, they say I have to let you go. We’re landing.”

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too, Daddy!”

He pulled the headset off and handed it back to the Marine who pointed. “I think that’s for you.”

He looked, puzzled, then smiled when he saw a chopper set down, Dawson stepping out then helping Nancy to the ground. He jumped out and rushed across the grass field toward her. Dawson pointed and she spotted him.

“Daddy!”

They raced toward each other, the soldiers stepping aside as the two final members of their broken family slammed into each other, wrapping their arms tightly as they both sobbed, Starling not caring who in the world saw the tears today.

It was a good day.

If only for this moment, in this field.

Dawson stepped over to the happy pair, Starling holding out his hand before the man could speak. “Thank you for saving my daughter, Sergeant Major.”

Dawson shook his hand. “I’m afraid I can’t take the credit, Mr. President.” He motioned toward the Asian member of the team who appeared sad and angry, some of his comrades comforting him. “The sergeant deserves the credit.

“Niner saved us all, Daddy.”

Starling debated going over to thank the man, but something was wrong. “What happened?”

Dawson frowned. “We lost someone. South Korean.”

“His girlfriend.”

Starling’s eyes widened.

“I’ll explain it all later, Daddy.”

Starling nodded. “Well, you tell him that I thank him, and will talk to him personally when he’s ready.”

“He’ll appreciate that, Mr. President. Now, we’ve got a twenty on Riker. Permission to bring this to an end?”

Starling leaned in, lowering his voice. “Kill the bastard.”

Dawson smiled. “You can count on it.”

95

Maggie Harris Residence

Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

“Oh my God, that’s Red.”

Maggie bolted awake, everyone still clustered in her living room as the kids slept in the bedroom, the adults taking shifts monitoring the television.

It was Shirley’s turn.

Everyone was awake now and Shirley backed up the CNN coverage on the DVR. “Watch!”

“We have footage just arriving at our studios from a South Korean amateur photographer purporting to show the President arriving at an evacuation point, apparently unharmed. Now I must warn you, CNN has been unable to confirm its authenticity, and until this moment, we had been led to believe that President Starling was safely in Busan, far from the chaos of Seoul.”

As the talking head spoke, a shaky video played showing a group of soldiers pouring out of the back of some sort of armored vehicle, followed by a man in a suit that Vanessa identified as the President, but Maggie didn’t care.

She was searching for Dawson.

And not seeing him.

Though there was no doubt Red and Wings were safe. She turned to Shirley and reached out, squeezing her arm. “I’m so happy for you.”

She smiled, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Th-thank you. Did you see BD?”

Maggie shook her head. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I don’t see Leon. Does anyone see Leon?”

Maggie frowned, Atlas not yet spotted by anyone. “I don’t see BD either, or Niner or Jimmy for that matter.”

“There’s my Will!” cried Spock’s wife, hugging Shirley.

“There’s only two of them there, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“They’re all dead! That’s what it means!”

Maggie rose and walked over to where Vanessa was sitting, rocking back and forth in her chair, hugging her knees. “No, they’re not,” Maggie said gently, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Did you see the President’s daughter?”

Vanessa paused, staring at the screen. “N-no.”

“Neither did I. Now don’t you think the others are with her? The President would want his best men with his daughter. He had Red’s team with him, and BD’s team with Nancy.”

“But she’s been kidnapped. They don’t know where she is!”

“Right, but do you honestly believe the President would leave without his daughter? There’s no way. He’s got BD and the others looking for her. I’m sure we’ll hear very shortly that she’s okay, and that they’re with her.”

Vanessa sighed, her rocking stopped. She stared up at Maggie with tear-filled eyes. “How do you keep it together? Aren’t you worried sick?”

Maggie patted Vanessa’s shoulder. “Of course I am, but this is the job. I have to trust that he’s okay until I’m told otherwise. If not, I’d be going crazy every time he deployed.” She dropped to a knee, eye-level with Vanessa. “Look, how many times has he been gone since you’ve been dating?”

Vanessa shrugged. “I don’t know. Dozens?”

“Right, and he’s come back every single time.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know he was going into combat until a few weeks ago.”

Maggie smiled. “Yes, but he was heading into danger every other time as well, and nothing happened. Look, don’t let knowing what he does ruin your life. You have to embrace it. Be proud of your man, of what he does, and cherish those times when he’s actually with you even more.”

“Why, because it might be the last time I ever see him?”

Maggie shook her head, a slight smile on her face. “You’re really a glass is half-empty kind of gal, aren’t you?”

A flash of anger appeared on Vanessa’s face and she opened her mouth to say something before she paused, a puzzled look on her face.

Then a stifled laugh escaped.

Then another. She fought it but failed, suddenly erupting in laughter, flopping back in her chair and holding her stomach. Maggie felt her own resistance tumbling away and she too began to laugh.

And within moments, the entire room was laughing, a set of sleepy children emerging from the hallway, rubbing their eyes, staring at their crazy parents.

96

Over the Yellow Sea

Dawson watched the water streak by below them, the chopper far faster than any yacht, there zero chance their target would reach Chinese waters first. And despite international law stating what they were about to do was technically illegal, there wasn’t a person there who cared.

Grant Riker, formerly of Riker Defensive Systems, was going to die.

He was officially now on the President’s Termination List.

A terrorist.

A clear and present danger to the United States of America, and its citizens.

He was already dead, he just didn’t know it yet.

“There it is, sir!”

Dawson leaned forward and peered through the cockpit window, an impressive yacht just ahead, lit by a full moon and a clear sky. “Christ, must be nice to be rich.”

“Yes, sir. She’s being challenged now, sir.”

Dawson watched an Apache gunship tear past them, its 30 mm M230E1 Chain Gun opening up on the water ahead of the yacht, the ship’s wake rapidly diminishing as the crew brought their vessel to a halt. The Apache dropped to just above the waves, turning to face the ship, cannons and weapons pods bristling, should the captain decide to try and make an unwise break for it. The crew slowly emerged onto the deck, hands up, the Apache’s pilot obviously giving them orders over its loudspeaker.

“Get me on that deck!”

“Yes, sir!”

The pilot descended, positioning them over the deck as one of the aircrew yanked open the door, tossing out a rope. Dawson grabbed it and jumped out the side, quickly rappelling to the heaving deck below. His feet hit and he cleared the rope, his MP5 already aimed at the crew as the others dropped around him.

“Find Riker!”

The men fanned out and Dawson stepped toward the captain of the vessel, his crisp white uniform stained with sweat. “Where is he?”

The man shook his head rapidly, clearly terrified, his eyes focused on the muzzle of the submachine gun. “H-he not here.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, no bullshit. He left.”

“When?”

“Half hour ago.”

“How?”

“Sub.”

Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Sub. Submarine.”

Dawson stared at the crew, everyone nodding. “This yacht has a submarine?”

“Yes.”

He activated his comm. “Anybody got eyes on something that suggests there was a submarine on board?”

Spock’s voice responded immediately. “I’m not sure what I’m looking at, but there’s some serious James Bond shit going on down here that might be some sort of dock for a sub.”

Dawson cursed. “Control, Zero-One. It looks like our target escaped in some sort of mini-sub. We’re going to need some help finding it, over.”

“Copy that, Zero-One.”

“What do you want us to do with the crew?”

Those in question suddenly appeared nervous.

“Are they involved?”

Atlas appeared from one of the doors, shaking his head. “He had a whack of computer horsepower in one of the cabins, but only one chair. Looks like a one-man show.”

Dawson nodded. “Negative, Control. Looks like he was the puppet master using the Internet to pull all the strings from here.”

“Incredible. Looks like the sharing economy has branched out into the hostage taking and revenge business.”

“Looks that way. When no one knows the big picture, they don’t think the little thing they’re doing is that important.”

“Agreed, Zero-One. Gather up their equipment, it might help us find the money he transferred, then let the ship and crew go. You may be in international waters, but it’s a Chinese-flagged vessel so technically you’re pirates right now.”

“Roger that. Zero-One, out.” He looked at the others. “Bag and tag everything. We’re out of here in ten.”

“Arr matey,” growled Jagger, sounding more Johnny Depp than pirate.

Niner slammed his fist into the wall, ending the mood.

And Dawson didn’t blame him for a second.

97

Fast Attack Submarine USS Chicago, Yellow Sea

“Sir, sonar contact off the port bow, heading two-eight-zero at five knots, range three-hundred yards, depth fifty feet.” The sonar operator turned to his XO. “It’s small, sir. Could be what we’re looking for.”

Captain Jonathan Brandis made his way to the sonar station. “You’re sure it’s not a whale, Jack, I don’t want Greenpeace getting all pissed off if we blow this thing out of the water.”

Jack smiled. “No, sir, it’s definitely a vessel. I can hear its screws. It doesn’t match anything we’ve got on file and it’s within the search radius.”

“Okay, let’s get her attention. Ping her.”

“Aye, Captain.”

A single ping echoed through the hull, chills racing up Jack’s spine, as it would any submariner who had experienced the receiving end.

“Status?”

Jack stared at his readings, frowning. “It didn’t change course or speed, Captain.” He looked up at his commanding officer, surprised. “I think it’s ignoring us!”

“Ping it again.”

Another loud echo of the distinctive pulse vibrated through the ship.

And again nothing.

Jack shook his head. “I’m sorry, Captain. Nothing.”

A burst of frustration erupted from Captain Brandis. “XO, if we ram that thing, what kind of damage are we looking at?”

“I’ve reviewed the specs, Captain. It’d be a fly on our proverbial windshield.”

Brandis smiled. “Do it.”

“Aye, Captain.” The XO turned, barking orders to the crew. “Conn, make your course two-eight-zero, speed ten knots.”

“Conn, aye, making course two-eight-zero, speed ten knots.”

“Sound collision alarm!”

“Sounding collision alarm, aye!”

An alarm blared, another chill racing up Jack’s spine, he only ever having heard the alarm in training. And no matter how confident the XO sounded with his fly on a windshield analogy, he had to wonder what might happen if he was wrong.

What if it’s loaded with explosives?

“Conn reading two-eight-zero. Speed ten knots!”

Jack flinched as Captain Brandis’ voice sounded inches from his ear, he not noticing his CO leaning in.

“Now let’s see what she does. Continue pinging her.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The echo became more rapid as they closed the distance. The three hundred yards quickly became two, then one, the reverberations nearly constant now.

“Any sign of evasive maneuvers?”

“Negative, Captain, she hasn’t changed course or speed.” He glanced up at Brandis. “But she’s civilian, sir, maybe they don’t know what to do.”

Brandis tipped his head momentarily to the side. “Oh well, that’s his problem, not ours.”

“Aye, Captain.” Jack watched his display. “Impact in five… four… three… two… one… impact!”

The ship shuddered a moment later. Slightly. There was definitely significant noise, though no alarms sounded, no pipes burst, and if they had wipers, he had the distinct impression the Captain would turn them on.

“Status?”

Jack examined his readings, his heart racing. “She’s surfacing, sir!”

The XO waved a tablet computer. “It has an emergency system built in that forces it to the surface if anything goes wrong.”

“I guess seven thousand tons of warship slamming into you counts as something going wrong.”

The XO grinned. “Aye, I guess it does.”

The Captain jerked a thumb toward the surface. “Let’s join him and introduce Mr. Riker to our brig.”

98

Over the Yellow Sea

“What do you mean it’s empty?”

The Black Hawk pilot glanced back at Dawson, he receiving an update over his headset. “That’s just it, sir. The USS Chicago reports that the mini-sub is empty, and it doesn’t look like anyone was ever inside.”

Dawson felt his face burn with anger. “Then he’s still on that yacht. Turn us around!”

“Yes, sir!”

The pilot banked hard to port, radioing an update to Command, the other choppers following suit. It didn’t take long to catch up to their quarry, it once again skipping across the waves, heading for China.

“How far are we from Chinese waters?”

“Less than ten klicks from what they like to claim.”

“Shit. Order them to stop immediately!”

“Hawk Zero-Two is already trying to, sir. They’re ignoring our hails.”

“Get the Apache to stop them.”

“No can do, sir, they had to return to base, low on fuel.”

Niner cursed, stepping past Dawson and hauling the door open. “Get me beside them!”

Dawson let the man do his thing, he about to do the same regardless. The pilot complied and Niner put a foot out on the skid, raising his MP5. He emptied a mag into the front portion of the deck, it impossible for the crew to miss the invitation to stop.

The ship swerved and Niner reloaded, firing into the hull, near the water line, Hawk 02’s orders to halt still going ignored.

Dawson shook his head. “They know they’re close. Distance?”

“Eight klicks.”

Niner reloaded. “Permission to put some rounds into the bridge.”

“Do it.”

He fired, glass shattering, the boat swerving away once again, now actually headed in the wrong direction.

It quickly lost momentum, coming to a halt as the crew rushed onto the deck, one of them covered in blood. Hawk 02 took up station about fifty feet off the port bow, its weapons aimed at the crew as Dawson’s chopper positioned itself over the deck, his team once again rappelling down, Niner taking point this time.

He rushed toward the captain, shoving the hot barrel of his MP5 into the Captain’s throat. The man cried out in pain, Dawson hearing the sizzle as he approached. “Where is he!”

The Captain said nothing as he dropped to his knees, yet his eyes spoke volumes, darting toward the rear of the boat. Niner hauled him up, shoving him toward the rear, the muzzle pressed hard against the man’s back.

“Where!”

A shaky hand pointed to the dive platform and Dawson spotted a rope going over the rear of the boat along with a thick, black hose.

Niner spotted it too, shoving the captain aside and tossing his MP5 to Jimmy before grabbing the rope and pulling. A few feet were hauled in before Niner began to yank on it, it not budging.

The Captain stepped forward. “He strapped in. It special escape system built for owner.” The Captain actually appeared ashamed. “China not safe.”

Niner glared at him. “Is he getting his air through this hose?”

The man nodded.

Niner stomped a heel on the line and looked at Dawson. “He needs air, doesn’t he?”

Dawson chuckled, activating his comm. “Control, Zero-One. Get me the President, over.”

“Roger that, Zero-One. Stand by.”

There was a pause then the sound of shuffling.

“This is the President.”

“Mr. President, we’re about to have the target in custody. Can you confirm he is still on the Termination List?”

Riker suddenly burst from the water, grabbing onto the dive platform then flopping onto his back. He ripped off the helmet he was wearing as his chest heaved for oxygen.

And there was no hesitation from Starling.

“Confirmed, Sergeant Major. He’s at the top of the list.”

Niner looked at Dawson who nodded, and his friend, his heart filled with vengeance, pulled his Glock and stepped forward, putting two rounds in Riker’s head.

99

Outside Qingdau, China

Kane stood at the foot of Hang Jian’s bed, feeling a lot better than during his last visit. Three young, nubile women were draped over the fat bastard whose help had made all of Riker’s efforts possible, and by extension, had led to the deaths of thousands in Seoul and across the entire Korean peninsula.

He reached down and squeezed a painted toe.

The girl stirred, rubbing her eyes before opening them, she clearly hung over—probably the only way she could bring herself to sleep with her benefactor.

She gasped.

He flicked his gun toward the door.

She woke the others and the bed quickly emptied, leaving Hang to slowly stir.

He opened his eyes and bolted upright then fell back down, his stomach acting like a medicine ball, preventing him from sitting up. He groaned in agony, grabbing his freshly bandaged shoulder.

“You forgot to mention the yacht.” Kane slowly, deliberately, made a show of screwing a suppressor into place.

Hang’s eyes bulged. “I-I didn’t know. I swear! I rented it, yes, but I didn’t know to who!”

“Not true.” Kane finished threading the suppressor. “My friends checked your accounts, and you received no additional payments that might be a yacht rental. That means it was part of the original agreement. That means you’re responsible for what happened.”

Hang scrambled back in his bed, coming to rest against his leather wrapped headboard. He raised his hands out in front of him. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I had no idea what they were going to do, I swear! I know it was wrong, I know that now, but at the time, I just wanted the money.” His chin fell to his chest, his eyes closing. “It was greed.” He stared up at Kane. “Please, have mercy.”

“All you had to do was tell me the truth.” He gave the suppressor one last, unnecessary though dramatic, twist. “But you didn’t.”

“These are dangerous people! I couldn’t. They would have killed me.”

Kane shook his head. “Actually, he was a dangerous person.”

Hang’s eyes narrowed. “He? You mean this was all just one person?”

Kane nodded. “Yes. And he’s dead.”

Hang breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God.” He smiled. “Then I’m safe!”

Kane chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

100

Gimhae International Airport

Busan, Republic of Korea

With a chirp, Air Force One left the ground, the Boeing VC25A quickly gaining altitude as the pilot executed an emergency evac procedure, comfort tossed to the wayside as speed was of the essence.

The sooner they were out of Korean airspace, the sooner they were out of missile range.

Dawson was confident the danger was now over, however. The shelling had stopped, both sides having taken a pounding, particularly the North. The President had made certain the message had gone out the moment the hostages were secured, that the North had no involvement whatsoever in the events that had triggered what might one day be called a war, its death toll certainly meriting the title.

This announcement had resulted in an immediate ceasefire by the North, who took the magnanimous gesture, claiming they were the better half of the two warring parties. They were of course denying they were about to buckle under the weight of the massive pounding they had received, the South having taken to hammering Pyongyang with zeal once the artillery targeting Seoul had been mostly eliminated.

Whether peace might be the end result was anyone’s guess.

His money was on the status quo, though he suspected the North’s saber wouldn’t rattle quite so strongly for years now that they would have to rebuild their forces.

The South and her allies had suffered minimal losses on the military side of things, but it was the civilian casualties that were heartbreaking. Thousands of warheads of varying types and sizes had hammered the capital, and due to the instant, all-out bombardment with no warning, millions had been caught in the streets.

Thousands, probably tens of thousands, were dead, many more wounded, and much of the city was in ruins.

It would take years to recover.

And the families, those that had paid the ultimate price in blood, never would.

You can rebuild a house, but it is the laughter and love of those that were lost, that truly make it a home.

Now might be the time to move the capital.

Yet it was one thing to move the government south, it was another to move ten million people, ten million proud, strong people, who called Seoul their home.

Ten million people he was certain would be even more attached to their city now that it had been paid for with blood.

There were still small pockets of resistance within the city, some of the fifth column still fighting to the death it would seem, though the greater fear was that many had simply disappeared into the background, deciding to live to fight another day. Dawson just hoped that the crackdown to find these people wouldn’t destroy the sometimes-fragile democracy that was the Republic of Korea, its democracy only a few decades old.

One easy target, though, had been the private security company. They had been raided, and before Air Force One had lifted off, Dawson had received word that the company had confirmed they had been hired to set up the warehouse, including the automated weapons platforms, pocketing almost two-hundred-thousand-dollars to do so.

If Korea has a death penalty, I think it just might get used.

With everything that had happened, he was thankful that his team had made it out unscathed, the President and his daughter safe, though they still had paid a heavy price.

They had lost chopper crews, civilian staffers, and Secret Service personnel.

And Niner had lost a friend.

He looked over at the man, staring out the window, his best friend Jimmy sitting silently by his side, there if the proud warrior needed to talk, but wisely holding his tongue until he was ready.

He’ll get over it.

From what he understood from young Nancy, it had been the beginnings of a whirlwind romance, one that would have been impossible to sustain, though the reality of what might have been, made the pain of what was, no less harsh.

When we get home, we’ll damage some brain cells, remember our fallen, then shove it down, deep.

He had so much buried baggage, sometimes he wondered if there was room for any more. They had all lost friends, comrades, loved ones. When he thought he had lost Maggie, he had lost control, stepping into the horde of rampaging Muslims, not caring if he lived or died, only that he kill as many of them as he could.

But she had lived.

And he might have died, leaving her alone.

Niner getting the opportunity to kill Riker, to kill the man responsible, would hopefully give him some closure, though it would never completely take away the pain.

Time would do that.

Nancy Starling appeared in the hallway leading to the front of the plane. She smiled at him then spotted Niner. She walked over to his seat, Jimmy saying something quietly before vacating his spot. Niner looked and weakly smiled at the girl. She sat beside him and gave him a long, hard hug, tears flowing down her cheeks, she sharing the pain of his loss, she too having suffered more than any fifteen-year-old should.

They’d both get over their loss, she yet again of her innocence, he of the short but intense romance consisting of only a few hours and a single kiss delivered to a lifeless body.

He turned away, giving them their privacy.

“My dad wants to meet you,” he heard Nancy say. Niner grunted, and they both rose, disappearing down the hall.

That family has been through too much.

Riker had tried to destroy them but had failed. Nancy was alive, Starling was alive, and only twenty some odd million had been lost, probably to never be seen again, though if he knew Langley, they’d be scouring the hardware they had retrieved to track it down.

The remaining of the three billion had already been removed from the charities’ accounts. They’d see curious, anonymous deposits then withdrawals on their next statements, though they’d never know where they had come from.

Riker’s hopes of destroying the President’s reputation had been foiled, and the press was reacting well to him having stayed behind for his daughter.

His presidency would survive.

And he had no doubt the bond between father and daughter would be even stronger.

101

President’s Office, Air Force One

Nancy stepped into her dad’s office, Niner in tow. Her father appeared tired, though happy to see him.

“Daddy, you remember Niner?”

Her father pushed a half-eaten slice of apple pie with ice cream aside then rose, a smile spreading across his face as he rounded his desk, his hand extended. “Of course I do.” He shook Niner’s hand. “I understand I have you to thank for saving my daughter.”

A subdued Niner shook his head. “A lot of good people were involved, a lot of good lives lost.”

Her father’s smile disappeared, he nodding slowly. “Yes, I understand from my daughter that you lost someone special.”

Niner nodded. “Could have been, but I guess I’ll never know.”

Her father, she was sure, could sense Niner wanted to be anywhere but here, talking about Yunhui Kim. He patted the soldier on his shoulder. “Nonetheless, I thank you, and I’ll thank the others later. I’ll let you get back to your friends.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

Niner turned to leave and Nancy moved to follow him when her father held out a hand. “I have something to discuss with you.”

She felt butterflies.

Niner left, saying nothing.

“Close the door.”

Her stomach flipped.

She complied.

He motioned to a couch and she sat down, he perched on the edge of his desk. “So, the Secret Service arrested someone earlier today.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, there no one she knew who could be arrested, especially Jeff. “Umm, who?”

“Someone you may know.”

Her confidence took a hit and she felt her body start to tense.

“Why don’t you tell me all about Jeff.”

Her shoulders slumped, her jaw dropping. “You arrested him!”

“Yes.”

“Aww, Dad!”

102

Maggie Harris Residence

Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

Vanessa lay curled up in the corner of the couch, drifting in and out of sleep when her phone vibrated in her hand. She stared at it, her eyes barely able to focus. Most of the others had gone home, only Shirley and Bryson remaining in Maggie’s apartment, Shirley deciding it was best not to wake the boy, and, Vanessa was sure, wanting to help Maggie keep the newest member of the group calm.

Hey babe, awake yet?

She bolted upright. “It’s Leon!”

The other two stirred, Maggie mumbling a warning. “Be careful how you reply. Remember, it’s a secret.”

She nodded, fumbling to type a response.

Yes, you ok?

The response was almost immediate.

Yup, just another boring day. I’ll be home later tonight your time. Love you.

Vanessa breathed a sigh of relief, smiling at the others.

Love you too. Can’t wait to see you.

She reached for Maggie and gave her a hug. “He’s okay!”

“What did he say?”

“Just another boring day!”

They all laughed, Maggie shaking her head. “Those guys should try being the wives for a day!”

THE END

Acknowledgements

The idea for this novel came to me sometime last year, the original idea being the G20 bus arriving at its destination, empty. The mystery would ensue from there, though by doing that, the reader misses out on the horror of the events as experienced by the victims, so as I began to write, I changed it up.

Quite a bit.

The technologies described in this book all exist, with the possible exception of the Riker WX handgun, though most of that tech does exist separately. Drones that can operate over cellular networks, handguns mounted to drones and fired by remote trigger, vehicles that can be hacked and driven, websites that allow you to hire people to do oddball jobs, all exist, and have made the news over the past few years.

And most recently, a commercial airliner was hit by a drone at an airport.

This latest incident was the inspiration for the tragic death of Mrs. Cheng.

While I think drones are an incredibly useful tool, they can be dangerous in the wrong hands—usually the hands of morons. During recent forest fires, an unauthorized drone caused the grounding of eight helicopters and five skimmers used to fight the fire, as they are a danger to the aircraft and crew.

So if you have a drone, be careful where you fly it. Dawson and his team, or some of my readers, might just blow it out of the damned sky.

This book is dedicated to an old friend of mine, Serge Rivard. As quite often happens in life, we lost touch over the years and I was terribly saddened to find out just recently that he died over two years ago. He, myself and my late buddy Paul Conway, were almost inseparable at the start of my career, and it’s difficult to think that I’m the last of the Three Amigos still on the right side of Mother Earth’s dirt. Serge was a Sergeant in the Air Force, and the definition of “a character”. He was rude, crude, hilarious and loyal—someone you could count on to lift your spirits or join you for a beer or twelve.

If you’ll indulge me, I’ll share one of my fondest memories of him. He, Paul and I once went on Temporary Duty out of town. Paul and I picked him up at his house in the rental, and I remember Paul jerking a thumb at the rear of the car. “Officers in the front, Sergeants in the trunk!” to which I’m sure Serge had a colorful response, to say the least. We arrived at our destination a few hours later, completed our work, and made our tee time on the base’s golf course. It was a beautiful day, we were having a great time, and on one of the later holes—I can’t remember which—my ball landed in the sand trap at the edge of the green. I whacked that bastard five or six times, getting increasingly angry, Serge egging me on, when I finally got it out.

And promptly put it in the sand trap on the other side of the green.

As I finished raking the first trap, I made my way across the green and Serge opened his mouth to say something. I glared and jabbed my sand wedge at him. “Say a f**kin word, Frenchie, and I’ll wrap this club around your goddamned neck!”

Both Paul and Serge pissed themselves laughing.

And kept a safe distance.

The next day I birdied the same hole.

We lost touch for probably the last fifteen years, though in seeing the pictures on his obituary page, I think he had a good life, though too short. There are lots of photos of him golfing, which was the thing he loved to do the most, and if I know him, he probably squeezed in a round every day that he could—which I imagine would be most.

You’ll be missed, my friend.

As usual, there’s a bunch of people to thank, starting of course with my dad, who researched the crap out of this one, Ian Davidson for some motorcycle help, the real Chris Leroux for a French translation, Greg “Chief” Michael for some navy and terminology help, Ian Kennedy for some equipment and terminology info, Brent Richards for some weapons info, Fred Newton for some boating info, my proofreading team, and a special thanks to Nick Daniels’ for the burger recipe Vanessa used. And of course, as usual, I’d like to thank my wife, daughter, and mother.

To those who have not already done so, please visit my website at www.jrobertkennedy.com then sign up for the Insider’s Club to be notified of new book releases. Your email address will never be shared or sold, and you’ll only receive the occasional email from me, as I don’t have time to spam you!

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The Protocol

Brass Monkey

Broken Dove

The Templar's Relic

Flags of Sin

The Arab Fall

The Circle of Eight

The Venice Code

Pompeii's Ghosts

Amazon Burning

The Riddle

Blood Relics

Sins of the Titanic

Saint Peter's Soldiers

The Thirteenth Legion

Raging Sun

The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers

Payback

Infidels

The Lazarus Moment

Kill Chain

The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

Rogue Operator

Containment Failure

Cold Warriors

Death to America

Black Widow

The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

Depraved Difference

Tick Tock

The Redeemer

Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

The Turned

Books by J. Robert Kennedy

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The James Acton Thrillers

The Protocol

Brass Monkey

Broken Dove

The Templar's Relic

Flags of Sin

The Arab Fall

The Circle of Eight

The Venice Code

Pompeii's Ghosts

Amazon Burning

The Riddle

Blood Relics

Sins of the Titanic

Saint Peter's Soldiers

The Thirteenth Legion

Raging Sun

The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers

Payback

Infidels

The Lazarus Moment

Kill Chain

The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

Rogue Operator

Containment Failure

Cold Warriors

Death to America

Black Widow

The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

Depraved Difference

Tick Tock

The Redeemer

Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

The Turned

Books by J. Robert Kennedy

Clicking any of these links will take you to the AMAZON.COM.AU store where you can sample or purchase the book!

The James Acton Thrillers

The Protocol

Brass Monkey

Broken Dove

The Templar's Relic

Flags of Sin

The Arab Fall

The Circle of Eight

The Venice Code

Pompeii's Ghosts

Amazon Burning

The Riddle

Blood Relics

Sins of the Titanic

Saint Peter's Soldiers

The Thirteenth Legion

Raging Sun

The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers

Payback

Infidels

The Lazarus Moment

Kill Chain

The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

Rogue Operator

Containment Failure

Cold Warriors

Death to America

Black Widow

The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

Depraved Difference

Tick Tock

The Redeemer

Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

The Turned

Published Internationally by J. Robert Kennedy, Ottawa, ON Canada

Copyright ©2016 J. Robert Kennedy

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, J. Robert Kennedy, is an infringement of copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

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Table of Contents

Department of Defense Definition of Kill Chain

Author's Note

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Acknowledgements

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About the Author

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