Missile Intercept Read online

  His sat phone rang just as he placed the cigarette between his lips. He flicked the lighter and lit it before answering. He assumed it was Yoon, and he was correct, but the lieutenant sounded agitated, out of breath, anxious.

  “What is happening?” Yi demanded. “Are you on board the ship?”

  “Yes, sir,” Yoon said. “I have sent two of my men and the ship’s officers to collect the remaining members of the crew so that we might disembark as soon as possible.”

  Yi sensed something more. “What else has gone wrong?”

  “We have captured a spy, Colonel.”

  “A spy?” Yi let the word linger as he ran down the possible ramifications of this development. “Is he Cuban?”

  “No,” Yoon said, “Korean. But I can tell from his accent that he is not from the South. He sounds like an American.”

  Yi said nothing. So the Americans were closer than he had anticipated. This was perhaps bad, and perhaps good, depending on how the rest of the game unfolded. And how much they knew.

  Yi became cognizant that the Iranian, Basir Farrokhzad, seemed particularly interested in the conversation. He was impetuous enough to lay his hand on Yi’s arm and inquire if all was well.

  “Just some minor problems,” Yi said in English.

  The Iranian nodded and smiled politely. “If I may, I should like to speak with my colleague, Amir.”

  Yi knew he was hardly in a position to refuse the request, since full cooperation of the Iranians was an intricate part of the overall plan. He nodded to Farrokhzad and told Yoon to put the other Iranian on the phone. He then handed the instrument over and listened to the foreign tongue waggling before him. Yi thought about telling the man to speak in English, but decided not to. What could the two of them be talking about that would interfere with the overall mission? And this would build a bit more trust between Yi and the Iranians. He drew some smoke into his lungs, then exhaled.

  After what seemed to be more than two minutes Yi began to lose patience. He held up his hand and snapped his fingers.

  The Iranian nodded and continued to talk.

  Yi thought about making the Iranian pay dearly for his incivility, but instead jumped to his feet and firmly removed the sat phone by bending the man’s thumb back with a small pain-compliance grip that assured instant cooperation but no lasting injury.

  He put the phone to his ear.

  “Basir?” a voice said, followed by something incomprehensible.

  “Give the phone back to Lieutenant Yoon,” Yi said in English.

  “Yes, but of course,” the voice replied, also in English.

  The Iranian sat in the beach chair massaging his thumb, a look of fear and trepidation in his eyes.

  That pleased Yi.

  “What are you orders, sir?” Yoon asked.

  “Disengage from the harbor as soon as possible,” Yi said. “Proceed to the island and have the new missiles loaded. And find out who that spy is and what his superiors know. Report back to me as soon as you have something. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Yi could hear the intimidation and fear in Yoon’s voice.

  Deception, fear and intimidation, Yi thought. All good allies for a leader of men, for a general.

  Not that I am a general yet, he thought as he drew heavily on the cigarette, but soon...soon I will be.

  Near the harbor

  Havana, Cuba

  THIS WAS TAKING too long, Bolan thought as he and Miguel sat in the black sedan that the Cuba Libre had “liberated” from the custody of two policemen earlier that night. Something had to have gone wrong. Stevenson, who was seated in the back, seemed to sense Bolan’s uneasiness.

  “It’s not looking good, is it?” she asked.

  “It’s too early to tell for sure,” Bolan said. “But I’m thinking along those lines.”

  “Oh, God,” she said. “What are we going to do now?”

  Immediately, Bolan regretted the absence of a good backup plan, but circumstances had dictated that their options for getting Chong off the North Korean ship were limited at best. He mentally reviewed the schematics of the ship that Brognola had emailed to him hours ago, and wondered exactly where the agent might be. The kid’s failure to signal that he’d planted the transponder and was ready for the extraction was troubling. So was the sudden and unexpected arrival of what looked to be some special ops North Koreans. Bolan thought back to the firefight at the warehouse and the guy in black BDUs who’d blown up the plane. If these guys were cut from the same cloth, this could spell real trouble.

  “Let’s go up there,” he said to Miguel.

  “Go up there? Is your man ready for a pickup?”

  “I don’t know,” Bolan said. “He hasn’t signaled yet, but he’s been on board way too long. Plus it looks like they’re herding the rest of the crew back onto the ship. They may be getting ready to disembark.”

  If Chong wasn’t extracted before that, the situation would go from bad to worse very quickly. Bolan turned to Stevenson. “You ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay,” Miguel said, shifting the sedan into gear with a grin. “Let’s go play policías.”

  As they turned onto the dock and proceeded toward the ship, Bolan saw two of the North Koreans in BDUs directing a crowd of other reluctant-looking sailors toward the gangplank.

  No doubt about it, he thought. They’re getting ready to shove off.

  Miguel drove around them and pulled up by the gangplank. He opened the driver’s door and stepped out with a swagger, tracing his thumb and index finger over the hairs of his thick mustache.

  Bolan got out of the vehicle, too, knowing that Grimaldi and the other Cuba Libre men, who were positioned on a rooftop near the entrance to the harbor, would be able to give Miguel and him advanced warning if the real police showed up. He opened the door for Stevenson, who got out and staggered to the front fender.

  “I must speak to the captain,” Miguel said in Spanish. “There is a problem with one of the men.”

  The gangplank guard’s face twisted into a snarl and he said, “Aniya. Ka!”

  Bolan knew enough Korean to know that they weren’t being welcomed with open arms.

  “I must speak with the captain,” Miguel repeated, affecting a bit of a swagger.

  The guard stood at stoic attention, saying nothing.

  Miguel again repeated his request to speak with the captain, and then added, “Do you speak Spanish?”

  “He does not speak Spanish,” a tall Asian man clad in BDUs said in passable Spanish from the top of the gangplank. “Who are you?”

  “We are from the national police,” Miguel said. “We have come to investigate a crime that was committed by one of your men a short time ago.” He smiled and affected an amiable shrug. “A small matter of nonpayment for services rendered to him by this young woman.”

  Taking the cue, Stevenson began a harsh litany in Spanish, cursing the malevolent, cheap sailor who hadn’t paid her.

  “We have no such person on board,” the man in black said. “And who is this whore to make such a charge?”

  Bolan was impressed with the Korean’s Spanish, although it was a bit halting and grammatically imprecise. This guy had definitely been schooled in multiple languages, which most likely meant he was handpicked special forces.

  “If this matter is not resolved,” Miguel said, “it becomes something more serious. Such as a charge of sexual assault.” He paused and lifted his eyebrows. “She can identify the man. Must I remind you that you are guests in my country? You must respect our citizens and our laws.”

  Bolan felt his burner phone vibrate and ring.

  Was it Chong signaling that he was all right and ready to be “taken into custody”?

  Keeping up the act, the Execu
tioner extracted the phone from his pocket and answered, “¿Bueno?”

  “Bueno, my ass,” Grimaldi said. “You guys better beat feet outta there. There’s a car that looks like the real cops heading your way, and some of those black BDU guys are mounting what looks like a North Korean M-60 on the fantail.”

  Bolan terminated the call and smacked Miguel on the arm. “Let’s go,” he said, and pushed Stevenson toward the sedan.

  It was definitely time to get out of there.

  9

  Punta de las Sueños

  Culiacán, Sinaloa, Mexico

  James Hudson lay back on the bed in his hotel room with the drink Soo-Han had fixed for him. He still felt unable to relax, despite the attention she was giving him. Finally, he told her to stop, and she looked up at him.

  “What is wrong, Jimmy?”

  He shook his head. “I’m just feeling the pressure, is all.” Reaching down, he took her hand in his and asked, “Soo-Han, does Colonel Yi intend to betray me?”

  Her dark eyes widened. “What? Of course not. I would not let him.”

  That reassured him a bit. Should he tell her about his insurance policy? Perhaps learning that there was one in place would make the colonel a bit more respectful and cautious?

  “The party on the beach is close,” she said. “Soon you will be rich beyond your wildest dreams, and you will have me, as well.”

  Hudson smiled. Although he wanted more than anything to believe her, there was a trace of the inscrutable lurking behind those dark eyes. “That’s what I wanted to hear. But there’s something you should know.”

  Her eyes narrowed again. “What is that?”

  Hudson took a sip of his drink and licked his lips. “I’ve got the plans from NIISA for the reentry technology downloaded to a flash drive.”

  She nodded, saying nothing.

  He debated telling her more, but thought better of it. At least for now. “I’m going to hold on to it until after he’s paid me and we’ve gotten away.”

  Kim’s eyes darted to the side, then she smiled. “You do not trust Colonel Yi to pay you?”

  “Call it a bit of insurance,” Hudson said.

  “And where is this flash drive?”

  He smiled. “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?”

  “You don’t trust me?” she asked, pouting. “After all we have done together?”

  “I trust you, but I can’t take the chance he’d hurt you to find out.”

  She stroked the side of Hudson’s face, her soft touch starting to arouse him. “Jimmy,” she whispered softly. “I love you.”

  “I know,” he said, pulling her close. “And I love you, too. Just follow my lead and I’ll get us through this.”

  He felt her body move up next to his and he set the drink down on the table beside the bed. Just as he started to kiss her a thudding knock sounded on the door. It seemed anything but polite. She stiffened and looked at him.

  “Who’s there?” Hudson yelled.

  The knock repeated, then he heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock, the door opening.

  Hudson rolled over, using the sheet to cover his nakedness, and reached for the phone. As he picked it up, a Mexican in a cream-colored suit appeared in the doorway, flanked by three other men, all of whom wore loose-fitting black outfits.

  “Get the hell out of my room,” Hudson said, mustering all the authority a naked, defenseless man caught in bed could muster.

  The Mexican raised an eyebrow and flashed a lascivious grin. “Looks like I am interrupting something,” he said.

  “Who the hell are you and what do you want?” Hudson said, the phone still poised in his hand.

  The Mexican pointed at the device and shook his head. “You don’t want to do that, amigo.”

  As if to punctuate the sentence, one of the men in black held open his shirt to reveal the handle of a pistol tucked into his waistband. His other hand held a cylindrical, metallic object that Hudson assumed was a sound suppressor.

  “Ricardo is very good at shooting people who give me problems,” the Mexican said. “And I’m sure you don’t want to give me problems, eh?” He raised his eyebrow again. “All I want is my money, and my man.”

  They’re from the cartel, Hudson thought. And it looks like Yi tried to stiff them, too.

  And now there was going to be hell to pay.

  Havana, Cuba

  BOLAN, STEVENSON AND Miguel had ditched the old Soviet sedan in the abandoned building where they met Grimaldi and another Cuba Libre member. They piled into a pickup truck. Grimaldi and the Cuba Libre man sat in the rear as they sped along the city streets and down several alleys. Miguel’s eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror. After about twenty minutes, he shook his head and grinned.

  “Looks good so far,” he said. “Nobody following us. Where you wanna go now?”

  “We’ve got to regroup,” Bolan said. “We have to assume that Chong got caught. We have to get him off that ship. Pull over. I need to make a call.”

  Miguel nodded and slowed to a stop. He shut off the lights, opened the door and gazed skyward. “They bring the helicopter patrols out after midnight, but most of the time they look for the Libre boats on the water.”

  Bolan took out his sat phone, already afraid of what he was going to hear, but he knew he had to try, regardless. He called Brognola.

  “We’ve got a problem.” He gave the big Fed a quick sitrep.

  “Damn,” Brognola said. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “We’ve got to do a boarding and extract him. Any chance we could get a SEAL team or some Force Recon marines from Gitmo to give us a hand?”

  “I’ll make some calls to see what I can do.” Brognola sighed. “But you know the official stance on independent operatives who run into trouble. I wouldn’t count on anything.”

  The old catchphrase of the government “disavowing all knowledge” played in Bolan’s memory like the refrain from an old, sad song, one he’d heard often enough. But it was one thing going into an op being fully aware of the consequences. This time it was a green kid.

  And I sent him in there, Bolan thought.

  “Let me make those calls and I’ll get back to you,” Brognola said.

  “Roger that,” the Executioner replied, knowing that any rescue was now up to him and any limited resources he could find. Even if the President okayed a special ops mission, it would take time. Nothing got decided in Washington without endless hours of discussion, second-guessing and debate.

  Someone tapped on the rear window of the truck, and Bolan turned to see the Cuba Libre man holding up his cell phone and pointing to it. Miguel slid out of the cab and spoke to him. Bolan heard a murmur of quick conversation, and then Miguel reappeared.

  “More problems,” he said. “My brothers at the harbor say that the North Korean ship has left the port.”

  Bolan clenched his teeth. Things were going from bad to worse in a hurry.

  “You said something before about having access to a speedboat?” Bolan asked.

  “Sí.”

  “How far is it?”

  Miguel shrugged. “Roughly thirty minutes away.”

  Thirty minutes. It was their best shot for intercepting the North Koreans. At this point, it was their only shot.

  “Let’s go for it,” Bolan said.

  10

  Punta de las Sueños

  Culiacán, Sinaloa, Mexico

  The bar was deserted except for the three of them. The Mexican in the cream-colored suit, who was now identifying himself as Jose, sprawled in the rear of the booth sipping tequila. Hudson sat next to him, feeling pale, weak and inadequate. He hadn’t touched the glass of liquid before him, and was conscious of one of the men in black sitting a few tables
away, watching them. The other two had stayed in the room with Kim, while Hudson called Yi and told him they had to meet in the bar immediately. The colonel walked in, accompanied by the Dragon, and strode to Hudson. He stopped when he saw Jose, and then casually glanced over to the man in black.

  “I see you have brought a friend,” Yi said. He motioned for Hudson to slide over and allow him to sit. The Dragon remained standing.

  “Buenas noches, señor,” Jose said. “I see you have brought your, ah, bodyguard with you. You want some tequila?” He brought the glass to his lips and tossed down its contents.

  Yi watched with no curiosity or interest.

  The Mexican slammed the glass onto the table and poured himself another drink. His lips curled into a smile as he nodded toward the Dragon. “Why don’t you tell your dog to sit?”

  Yi gazed at the man as if assessing him, and said something in Korean. The Dragon slowly walked over to the man in black and sat opposite him. The two bodyguards stared at each other over the tabletop like two big jungle cats sizing each other up.

  Jose picked up the glass again, rotating it between his fingers. “My friend, it has been long time since we last talked. And almost as long since I heard from Roberto, the man I sent to meet you in Panama.” He paused, belched and continued. “You see, my friends down in Panama City tell me that they have not heard from their man, Paco, either. They fear for his health. What can you tell me about that?”

  Yi sat impassively, saying nothing.

  “We don’t want trouble,” Jose said. “We just want our money, like we agreed. But if it’s trouble you want, we can give you plenty.” He brought the glass to his lips and drank.

  “Your man is on my boat,” Yi said. “He wished to remain there to guard the money that the Iranians brought. I complied with his wish.”

  Jose smirked. “At one time, I might have believed you, but I know Paco. He is my cousin. He would not make such a decision without first calling me.”