Tom Clancy's Op-center_ Op-center Part 32

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE.

Wednesday, 8:00 A.M., North Korea DMZ

The first shot hit Gregory Donald's left leg and brought him down, while the second rifle shot hit the top of his right shoulder as he fell, boring diagonally through his torso. As soon as he hit the ground he was pushing with his left arm, trying to get up. When that proved impossible, he began clawing with his hand, trying to pull himself ahead. The knife tumbled from his dead right hand as he scratched forward, inches at a time.

The soldiers came running over.

"Air" Donald gasped in Korean. "Air"

Donald stopped moving, fell on his side. He felt a slight burning sensation in his left leg, waves of pain that ended at his waist. Above that, he felt nothing.

He knew he'd been shot, but that was in the back of his mind. He tried to crane his head around, tried to lift his arm to point.

"The air con condi--" he said, then realized that he was probably wasting whatever breath remained. No one was listening. Or maybe he wasn't talking loud enough.

A medic came rushing over. He knelt by Donald's side, examined his throat to make sure it was clear, then checked his pulse and examined his eyes.

Donald looked up into the man's bespectacled face. "The barracks," he said. "Listen to me air-conditioning--"

"Rest," the medic said. He threw open Donald's jacket and unb.u.t.toned his shirt. He used gauze to wipe away the blood and made a cursory examination of the entrance wound in the shoulder and the exit wound to the left of the naval.

Donald managed to get his left elbow under him and tried to rise.

"Keep still!" the medic snapped.

"You don't see! Poison gas the barracks"

The medic stopped, regarded Donald curiously. "Air con dition"

"The air conditioners? Someone is trying to poison the men in the barracks?" Understanding and sadness crossed the medic's features simultaneously. "You were trying to stop them?"

Donald nodded weakly, then fell back, struggling for breath. The medic relayed the information to the soldiers standing around him, then resumed working on his patient.

"You poor man," the doctor said. "I'm sorry. So very sorry."

Behind him, Donald could hear shouts, men running in the direction of the barracks. He tried to speak. "What?"

"What's happening?" the medic asked an aide.

"The soldiers are leaving the barracks, sir."

"Do you hear?" the doctor asked Donald.

Donald heard but couldn't move his head. He blinked slowly, looked past the medic at the bluing sky.

"Don't let go," the doctor said as he called for a stretcher. "I'm going to get you to the hospital."

Donald's chest was barely moving.

"What's happening now?" the medic asked as he straddled Donald's chest.

His aide turned back. "There are soldiers around the air conditioner. They're checking the other barracks now. Now the lights just went out-- it looks like the electricity's been shut off."

"You're a hero," the doctor said to Donald.

Am I? he thought as the blue sky went gray and then black.

There were shots, but the doctor paid no attention to them as he pressed his mouth to Donald's, pinched his nose shut, and gave him four quick ventilations.

He felt for his cartoid pulse, found none, then repeated the procedure. There was still no pulse.

Sliding from Donald's chest, the medic knelt beside him and put the middle finger of his right hand on the notch where the sternum meets the bottom of the rib cage. Then he placed the heel of his left hand on the lower half of the sternum beside the index finger and pressed, counting out eighty pushes each minute. His a.s.sistant held Donald's wrist, checking it for a pulse.

Five minutes later the medic sat back on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. The stretcher lay beside him and he helped his aide place Donald's body on it. Two soldiers carried it away as an officer walked over. They ignored the soldiers from the South who were looking on.

"Does he have any identification?"

"I didn't check."

"Whoever he was, he deserves a citation. Someone had rigged valved drums of gas to the air conditioning systems of the four barracks on the east side. We caught him as he was about to turn them on."

"Just one man?"

"Yes. He probably wasn't alone, though he won't be telling us anything."

"Suicide?"

"Not exactly. As we closed in, he tried to spill the gas. We were forced to shoot." The officer looked at his watch. "I'd better inform General Hong-koo. He's on his way to meet that American Amba.s.sador, and this may change things."

Tucked behind the trunk of a large oak, he watched as the small convoy of three jeeps neared the northern entrance of the conference building. They had come from the far northern side of the base where the General had his headquarters, and would park right beside the door of the structure, wait for the contingent from South Korea to arrive, and not exit until then. At least, that was probably the plan.

But if Lee had seen what he thought he had-- Donald gunned down as he ran toward the barracks-- there would be no contingent from the South. It also appeared that there would be no gas attack on the barracks. Those other shots, the lack of excitement at what should have already occurred-- it was obvious the plan had gone seriously wrong.

His palm was dry, his grip on the pistol sure. If only he had used that against Donald, instead of the knife. It would have attracted attention, but he could have fled- No matter. Fate had handed him another opportunity, one that was almost as rich.

The cars stopped, and Lee's eyes came to rest on General Hong-koo, a small man with a wide mouth like a snake and, he'd heard, a disposition to match. The General would wait no more than twenty minutes before entering: when no one showed up, he would announce to the world that the North wanted peace, the South did not, and he would return to his headquarters.

That was surely the plan, he thought again. For Lee didn't intend to give him the chance to do either.

Roughly 150 yards separated Lee from Hong-koo's convoy. The General was sitting stiffly in the back of the middle jeep, a poor target now but not for long. As soon as he emerged from his jeep, Lee would run over, gun him down, and shoot as many of the six other men as he could before running back toward the tunnel.

Yet he was prepared to die, if he had to, emerge as either a leader or a martyr. All of them had been ready to give their lives for this cause, for even if the bombing, the a.s.sa.s.sination, and Sun's attack against Tokyo didn't start a war, their acts would strengthen the hearts of those opposed to reunification.

Hong-koo's driver looked at his watch, turned, and said something to the General. The General nodded.

It was almost time time for the United States to be driven from the South, for patriotism to flourish, and for a new militarism to rise, making South Korea the most powerful, prosperous, and feared nation in the region.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX.

Wednesday, 8:02 A.M., the road to Yangyang

Kim had buried nearly four million won in a cemetery east of the city. The equivalent of roughly five thousand U.S. dollars, she had hidden the won while kneeling at footstones, sitting on benches, and resting beneath trees, tucking the coins and bills in small holes, under roots, beneath rocks. All of it had still been there. People didn't come to cemeteries to look for hidden treasure.

It took her nearly three hours to recover all the money in the dark, after which she'd filled the car with gas and followed the Pukangang River toward the northeast and Lake Soyang. There, she had rested while she looked through her notebook for the name of someone from whom she could buy a pa.s.sport and pa.s.sage to j.a.pan.

Sitting in the car, Kim had kept the radio on, tuned to the frequency Hwan had used in his car to communicate with the KCIA. She wanted to hear if they had anything to say about her, and for a time it appeared that they had no clue as to her whereabouts or even what kind of car she was driving. Then, just a few minutes before she was about to leave, the KCIA found her Tercel at the BMW dealership. They were in the process of determining which car she had stolen when she was back on the road, headed toward the sea.

The two-lane road led through beautiful countryside, but it was deserted, and she began to grow concerned that she might not find another car. Her only hope was reaching Sorak-san National Park before the authorities found her. There were usually a great many tourists there, and there was a s.p.a.cious parking lot just north of the Paektam-sa Temple on the park's west side. She could get there by way of the Taesungnyong Pa.s.s and headed in that direction.

Kim was sorry she'd stopped to rest at the lake. It had been a stupid idea, but the day had seemed endless and then there was her guilt over the man she had killed. It had been surprisingly easy at the time: a good man was in danger and she had shot the man who was attacking him. Only when it was done did she realize she knew nothing about the a.s.sailant, or if she'd even acted in time, or whether the man she killed would have turned on her or helped her to escape.

All that really mattered was that she'd murdered someone. The spy who wasn't a spy, the North Korean who had been d.a.m.ned to come here because she had loved her brother, had now committed the ultimate sin. She would always see his face as she shot him, shock and pain lit by the flash of a gun, a body crumbling raggedly, not flailing and arching the way it did in the movies A clear voice came in over the radio, which was nestled in the pa.s.senger's seat.

"Chopper Seven, this is Sgt. Eui-soon. Over."

"Chopper Seven copies, over."

"The white BMW was seen fueling near the Tong-daemum Stadium Station about ninety minutes ago. It left headed east, which would put it past Inje by now. That's in your area. Over."

"We'll check it out and report back, over and out."

Kim cursed. She was just past Inje, which was at the northeastern tip of the lake, and they would be on her within minutes. The police in South Korea loved issuing summonses, and she dared not speed up-- not without a registration for the car and millions of won stuffed in the radio carrying case on the floor. She stayed under the speed limit, looking desperately for a parked car, finding none, and finally reaching the park, with its craggy peaks and thundering waterfalls visible in the distance. Park rangers were not as difficult as the police, and she was about to speed up to get to the parking lot when she heard the distant beating of a helicopter rotor.

She pushed the gas to the floor, looking for someplace to pull off the road. She had finally decided to abandon the car and continue on foot when the helicopter pa.s.sed over her, made an arcing turn, and came back.

She braked hard.

The helicopter hovered some two hundred feet up, facing her, the two men inside pointing. She heard a shrill whistle as the loudspeaker was turned on.

"There are ground personnel on the way," the speaker said. "You are advised to remain where you are."

"And if I don't?" she said under her breath. "What are they going to do?"

She scanned the road ahead. About two miles off it started a sinuous course into the mountains, and it would be difficult for cars to chase or the chopper to follow.

To h.e.l.l with them, she thought and, flooring the gas pedal, the BMW screamed out from under the helicopter toward the blue-gray peaks beyond.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN.

Wednesday, 6:05 P.M., Op-Center

Hood was in his office with Ann Farris and Lowell Coffey, debating about how to handle news of the Striker incursion in case the team was captured or killed. The White House would disavow the operation, as the President had said, and SOP was that Op-Center would do the same. But Ann felt there were some PR brownie points to be gained by letting the world know that they had been looking out for the well-being of j.a.pan, and while Hood agreed she had a point, he was disinclined to go along with the idea.

When Bugs told Hood that General Schneider was calling with urgent news from Panmunjom, the debate came to a swift end.

"Hood here."

"Mr. Director," General Schneider said, "I regret to inform you that your man Gregory Donald appears to have been shot to death by the Dee-Perks on their side of the border just a few minutes ago."

Hood's face paled. "General, they invited him to come over--"

"This wasn't that meeting. He wasn't in the meeting center."

"Then where was he?"

"He was running toward the barracks with a knife."