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  “Better hurry, Able. Striker is thirty seconds out. We’ll make sure the back door is open.”

  Tanner holstered his pistol, slipped another buckshot round into his Commando’s grenade launcher and started running, Stephen and Naomi right behind him.

  As they reached the top of the stairs the freight elevator doors opened and four 49s came charging out. Stephen fired first, followed by Naomi and Tanner. Three of the enforcers went down in bloody heaps, while the fourth quickly changed course and threw himself back into the elevator.

  Tanner turned back to the stairs, but a storm of bullets slammed into the staircase, setting off enough sparks to remind Tanner of a Fourth of July fireworks show. A ricochet grazed his cheek, the hot metal burning his skin.

  “That way’s out.” Naomi looked around. “So is the elevator, and there’s no place to hide up here.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Able to Bravo, we have a problem.”

  Liam pulled back behind the dumpster. Bravo Team’s marksmanship had whittled down the Triad numbers, but the bullet-riddled dumpster was now only being held together only by rust. Not to mention the smell was no reason to hang out, either. “What now?”

  “Stairs are covered and the only other way down is elevator.”

  “We’re still playing Tango Tag.”

  “Watchdog, does Cobra have any venom left?”

  “Affirmative. Do you want them crying, blind or confused?”

  “Crying and confused. Dump everything but the smoke on Bravo’s playmates. Bravo, once your playmates are busy, I want you to make a door for us and hold it.”

  Liam frowned. “Doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

  “No time for good ideas. Striker’s coming in and I don’t want to tangle with friendlies. Watchdog, when we’re clear of the building, drop the smoke between us and the warehouse and recall Cobra and Wasp.”

  “Copy Able,” Danielle said. “Striker is coming down the street now. Dazed and crying in five, four, three, two…one!”

  Explosions lit up the area over the Triad gunmen, some loud and bright, others releasing clouds of thick white smoke. Shouts and screams replaced gunfire as those who weren’t stunned by the flash-bangs were hit by CS gas.

  Liam grinned. “Five, stay where you are and cover me. Once I’m inside, move to my current location and cover our exit.”

  “Copy, Two,” Dante returned.

  “Bravo to Able. Okay to use an M406 on the truck doors?”

  “Go ahead. The prisoners are behind crates and pallets.”

  Liam slipped an HE round into his grenade launcher.

  “Fire in the hole!”

  He raised his Commando, sighted on the middle truck door and fired. The grenade slammed into the door at an angle, ripping it apart. Liam removed the spent round, loaded a CS round and raced for the still-smoking door.

  #

  The truck door disintegrating took the defenders inside by surprise. A group of 49s who had been working their way to the bottom of the stairs were in front of the door when it exploded, the pieces of steel and wood acting like a massive shotgun blast that left them as grisly corpses. The shooting stopped as the remaining gunmen tried to comprehend what had happened.

  Tanner launched himself down the stairs, landing on the fourth step and grabbing the rail with one hand long enough to steady himself. He raised his Colt and directed quick bursts into distracted 49s. Naomi and Stephen ran past him. Naomi stopped half a dozen steps below Tanner and raised her submachine gun. As soon as she opened fire, Tanner started down the stairs and passed her. In the meantime, Stephen had reached the landing and added his fire to Naomi’s.

  Tanner leapt the last three steps, landed on the ground floor with both feet, spun and pointed his Commando in the cages’ direction. No targets were in sight, but he didn’t relax. The prisoners were huddled in the furthest corner of their cages.

  “Bravo to Able,” Liam said over the radio. “I’m at the door. Get a move on!”

  Two Triad gunmen appeared twenty yards in front of Tanner. He fired multiple bursts, driving them back into cover. Naomi and Stephen ran past him, heading for the door.

  Naomi stopped at the corner, spun around and pointed her Commando in Tanner’s direction. “Go!”

  Tanner whirled and ran for the door. He raced past Naomi, past Stephen who was covering the next row over, and headed for the truck door. Liam was there, covering the outside. The sounds of shouts and gunfire could be heard from the far side of the warehouse.

  “Striker to OUTCAST!” Vessler’s tone was urgent. “We’re making entry!”

  “Copy! We’re extracting and using smoke!” Tanner hopped over the side of the loading dock, landing on the ground. He pointed his submachine gun back into the warehouse. “Three and Four, go! Five, head for the extraction point! Watchdog, drop the smoke!”

  Naomi and Stephen followed Tanner out the truck door, leapt off the dock and ran for the fence. Liam followed them a few seconds later. Out of the night sky, smoke canisters fell, filling the area between the team and the far side of the warehouse with thick white smoke. Tanner ran after them.

  Dante was already at the hole he and Liam had cut in the fence. Five minutes later, the team was through the fence and running into the darkness. Behind them, the gunfire at the warehouse had ceased.

  Danielle was waiting for them outside of the vans. “DEA is securing the building right now.”

  Tanner issued commands over his mic. “Dante, Stephen: get the drones into the vans. Nay, Liam: you’re driving. Dani, monitor the police bands.”

  Two minutes later, both vans merged into the light nighttime traffic on the main road.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Nob Hill

  3:15am

  Norman Kwan sat in the living room of his home, an open bottle of scotch on the side table next to him. He’d loosened his tie, taken off his shoes and cradled a half-filled glass of the liquor. The room was mostly in darkness, and at this time of night the house was quiet. His wife was in New York on business, adding to the silence, while his grown children were off on their own.

  He’d never wanted to be a spy, but the state had decided he would become a Reconnaissance General Bureau agent, so a spy he became — starting at the age of ten. Trained by the 225th Bureau in espionage, and drilled relentlessly in state dogma, he had been smuggled to Taiwan when he was eighteen, given the name of Norman Kwan, and enrolled in the National Taipei University of Business. He graduated with a master’s degree in international business and then spent several years working in a North Korean front company. There, he helped funnel money and goods into his homeland before being tapped for a major mission — infiltrating the United States.

  In this capacity, he spent fifteen years building up his import-export company. He became a U.S. citizen, married a lovely American woman, had three children, and became a leading voice of business in the city. By then, he knew that his leaders, had lied to him about everything. If he could have, he would have told the Kims to take their “worker’s paradise” and stick it up their asses. He enjoyed his life here, where food wasn’t rationed, where he could say and read anything he wanted, and where the government didn’t watch his every move and word.

  Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that. He still had family in North Korea, brothers, sisters, parents, and several nephews and nieces, all one step away from being arrested and thrown into one of the prison camps the Kims and their toadies kept for those who disobeyed their whims. It didn’t matter if they were innocent; the state believed in family guilt, the actions of one tainting the entire family, and it would be three generations before any of the family saw the outside of the camps, assuming they survived long enough. Part of Kwan’s training took him to some of those camps and he had seen firsthand what happened to those who opposed the state.

  So it was that when Pyongyang ordered him to run for an open seat on the Board of Supervisors for the City and County of San Francisco, he had no choi
ce. He’d tried to run a lackluster race, but his opponent bungled his campaign so badly that Kwan still beat him handily. At the victory party, he’d received a message written in Korean congratulating him, with a picture of his brother as a reminder of the consequences of failure.

  He won reelection several more times, and was elected President of the Board of Supervisors in the most recent election. He was now the second most powerful city official after the mayor. Pyongyang’s demands were constant and straightforward; the status of the military bases in the area, even the closed ones, federal anti-terrorist plans in the city, U.S. navy fleet movements through San Francisco, and any other information the People’s Republic thought could be important.

  But it wasn’t just the spying. It was a stream of demands for various items that were taken for granted here but were extremely rare in North Korea. Hollywood film and porn DVDs, liquor, electronics such as MP3 players and large-screen TVs, and other luxuries were demanded of him. People in North Korea were starving and what were the Kims and the country’s elite doing? Living well, eating well, watching programs forbidden to most of his countrymen, and generally doing what they accused America and her allies of being — arrogant, self-centered, and petty.

  Despite all the demands, Kwan felt comfortable enough in his dual roles as spy and politician. He gave his superiors what they demanded, most of which was public source or easy to buy. He didn’t know what plans they had for him, but for now he was content to follow orders.

  He was so deep in thought that he didn’t detect Rhee’s presence until the major said in Korean, “You are a disgrace.”

  Kwan’s head snapped up, fear and surprise quickly replaced by anger. “What are you doing here?” he hissed in English.

  “I came for an update on the task I gave you.”

  “You gave me twenty-four hours.”

  “Things are moving faster than I expected. What have you found out?”

  Kwan downed the rest of his glass’ contents and set it down next to the bottle. “I met with Casey briefly this afternoon. I asked him about reports there was a CIA hit team in the city and I demanded he tell me the truth.”

  “Did he?”

  Kwan snorted. “Of course not! He told me there was no CIA team in town, as they are forbidden to act inside the U.S.. He then said that he was here to brief the mayor and the Board of Supervisors, and nothing more.”

  “I see.” Rhee’s expression was ice cold. “Did the police make any headway at the pier?”

  “The feds took over — FBI, DEA, ATF. The SFPD is only assisting now. The investigation is being managed by D.C., and they are not releasing information yet.”

  “I thought you were an important leader.”

  Kwan shrugged. “Important city leader. My power base is here in San Francisco, with some pull at the state level, but zip at the federal level.”

  Rhee tilted his head. “There is a U.S. senator retiring soon, is there not?”

  Kwan nodded. “Two years.”

  “Excellent. For right now, do you know where the mayor will be tomorrow?”

  Kwan pointed to the dining room. “I have her itinerary on the table.”

  Rhee strode to the dining room table and picked up a sheet of paper. He walked back into the living room, stood next to the lamp that was on and read the paper. When he was finished he looked up at Kwan. “Where will you be when the mayor visits the DEA office?”

  “There’s a Board of Supervisors meeting at the same time. I will be there.”

  “Good.”

  “What’s so good about it?”

  Rhee smiled coldly. “It is time you took on more responsibility, sachon.”

  Kwan felt his stomach twist when Rhee called him cousin. “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t need to know. I—”

  Something in Rhee’s coat pocket buzzed. The major scowled and plucked a cell phone from the pocket. “Ne?” He listened for a few seconds, then said, “I want a full alert at the ranch! I will be out there shortly. Did the doctor and the shipment make it? Good. You have your orders — carry them out!”

  He put the phone away, then stared at Kwan. “The Americans are becoming a problem. They attacked an important facility tonight.”

  “Any of our people hurt?” Kwan asked, though the words felt bitter as he uttered them.

  “Aniyo,” Rhee replied. “It was only Triad jang-gae, no one important. But the Americans missed destroying our plans by a few hours. They seem to know much.”

  “They must have a spy inside the Triad.”

  Rhee frowned, but nodded. “It is the only thing that makes sense. I must see to a few things. For now, do not deviate from you normal schedule. You are a vital part of the fight against American Imperialism. Now you will begin your rise to heights where you can help the state the most.”

  Kwan felt his stomach twist again. “Of course, Major.”

  Rhee left as silently as he had come. Kwan waited a few minutes, then searched the house, but Rhee was gone. He locked all of the doors and returned to the living room. He reached over and poured another glass of scotch.

  “Goddamn jongpuk,” he muttered.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ninety miles Northeast of San Francisco

  6:46am

  The new Red Ice lab was located in the heart of the state’s historical Gold Rush territory. Less than ten miles from Sutter Creek, the ranch’s former owner had fallen on hard times due to the ongoing drought and ended up selling the property to a front company set up by North Korean intelligence.

  The sun edged over the horizon as Rhee got out of the car and walked toward the house. The ranch covered two thousand acres of mostly open land. The southern half of the ranch, the part closest to the road, was flat and open, while the rear northern half consisted of low rocky hills that rose above the rest of the spread. The facilities included a covered corral next to a large barn, while a low, wide ranch house lay to Rhee’s right. The ground was mostly a dull brown, the dried grass and dirt roughly the same color. The only green came from the occasional tree that dotted the hills.

  Muhn and another soldier stayed with the car. As Rhee stepped up onto the porch, the front door opened and another Asian man stepped out. He wore jeans, a flannel shirt, with work boots. He had the compact body of someone who did heavy work frequently, but his eyes in the light of the porch light were hard and cold like diamonds.

  He stepped aside and bowed, then spoke to Rhee in his native Korean. “Sir, please come to see our progress.”

  Inside the house, the place resembled more of an army barracks than a home. Furniture was minimal, with patriotic posters of the three Kims who had ruled the homeland for seventy years exulting the soldiers to work hard and complete their mission. Several of the front-facing windows had been turned into machine-gun posts, each with a tripod-mounted DShK heavy machine gun ready to be moved into position should the ranch be attacked.

  Rhee was led to a kitchen at the back of the house. “Coffee, sir?”

  Rhee shook his head. “Any problems, Myoung?”

  Senior Captain Myoung Kyung-ju, in charge of the ranch, shook his head. “The supplies and chemists, including Dr. Mori, arrived as expected. According to P’il, the prisoners are behaving.”

  “Where is Mori?”

  “In the lab. Ryuk says the first new batch of Red Ice will be ready in twelve hours.”

  “Has he learned the patbingsu formula yet?”

  Myoung shook his head. “She’s still keeping it a secret.”

  “What about the ammonia nitrate?”

  “Slow. The Americans are regulating sales of fertilizer, and we have to be careful not to buy too much from the same dealer. Also, the government is replacing the ammonia nitrate with a new formula that is not explosive. We currently only have twenty bags.”

  “We need twenty times as much. We will only have one shot at causing massive casualties using this method, and I will not accept any excuse for delay of this stage.”


  “Understood, sir. I have located four storage facilities within a hundred miles where there is fertilizer in sizable quantities. With your permission, we will raid one of them tomorrow night.”

  Rhee shook his head. “No, we will raid all four of them tomorrow night. We will have only one chance to secure ammonia nitrate. After that, the Americans will get wind of our plan and crack down. They will not allow us a second chance. Better to have too much of the fertilizer than too little. What about the other items?”

  “The trucks are rented. The other ingredients required to make the bombs have already been secured. Everything is in the barn.”

  Rhee smiled. “Excellent. I’m going to the lab.”

  “Now? Breakfast is nearly ready.”

  “I will eat when I come back. I will not be here long.”

  “Of course sir.”

  #

  The tunnel was in the basement, accessible by a hole dug in one corner. The tunnel itself was narrow, only six inches wider that Rhee’s shoulders, and the height of the tunnel would have brushed Muhn’s head. Wooden support frames were spaced every twenty feet, from which hung bare bulbs that illuminated Rhee’s path. Despite its dimensions, the tunnel was straight and level and the walls, floor and ceiling were smooth.

  Less than two minutes later, the tunnel opened into a small underground room twice the width of the tunnel. In the center, surrounded by a waist-high barricade of sandbags and protected by a shield was a DShK heavy machine gun pointing down the tunnel. The two guards, each wearing a set of plain brown fatigues, stood and snapped to attention.

  “Where is Captain P’il?” Rhee asked.

  “Control center, sir!” one of the guards replied.

  Rhee nodded and walked past the machine gun nest into the next tunnel, a short one that took him to the adjacent chamber, a barracks for eight of the base’s thirty-two man security force. The four guards sitting around the table came to attention as soon as Rhee entered the room. He nodded and walked around the table and into yet another tunnel on the other side.