Shaun Kingston had heard and seen enough. “Your ‘sleepers’ failed.” He spoke softly, without the slightest hint of a threat, but still his words were menacing. “Your island has been attacked. It could be compromised. Even now, they don’t know if the enemy have vacated, are dead or are in hiding. This whole operation could be falling apart, General.”
Kwang Yong shrugged. “Or your propaganda is just that, Mr. Kingston. I have heard nothing so dreadful. The victory will still be ours. The Republic does not fail.”
“It’ll fail if you don’t get my weapons,” Kingston shot back before he could stop himself. Goddamn. Where was his usual reserve? Blown to hell, he thought. Along with all his dreams of unlimited wealth. But maybe not yet. And he couldn’t exactly suggest to the general that his own men were probably keeping schtum because of the time honored ‘shoot the messenger’ syndrome.
“You would do well not to threaten me, Mr. Kingston. We Koreans do not respond well to threat.”
Kingston nodded, accepting the rebuke. “Window’s short,” he said. “But we still have a play here.” For once, he was glad he’d included his bodyguards in this conversation and in particular his primary muscle — a man called Germaine. Tall, thin, built like a knife and just as sharp and deadly, he was a born killer. Easy to underestimate and almost impossible to hurt, he prided himself on always being that one lethal step ahead of his enemy.
Now Germaine stood at his side, two other bodyguards by the high set of windows at his back. They faced the seated Kwang Yong and his own assembly of personal guardians. To Kingston it felt like a stand-off.
“A play?” The Korean chewed on the phrase as if it had been delivered hard-boiled. “What do you mean?”
“A balls-out finale. Anything goes. We have a good team in place — all ex-military who are willing to kill. We have to accept that since our spotters saw the hooker and that damn truck driver being taken into this new HQ, the team within are well on their way to figuring this whole thing out. Don’t you think?”
“We do have more sleepers.” Kwang Wong grinned. “It is just the matter of a phone call.”
“I know you enjoy destroying these people’s lives with a mere sentence, General, but please…” Kingston faltered. “Things have moved on.”
“We could bring an army of sleepers. An army of brothers.”
Kingston considered that for a moment. He hadn’t realized there were so many. An army might be useful one day. “Not now,” he said. “But be ready.”
“Sir.” Germaine spoke at his side. The whip-thin man wasn’t one to request attention unless action needed to be taken, so Kingston instantly acknowledged him. “Yes?”
“Two of them just left the HQ. The woman, Jaye, and her CIA partner. The Hawaiian.”
It was the first enemy movement since the truck driver had arrived hours ago.
“Shit.”
“Actually that’s perfect, sir. Divide and conquer.”
Kingston had never been able to think like a killer. He envied Germaine sometimes. “Alright. Time to put our affairs in order. General, this is my game now.” He turned to Germaine once more. “Give the go ahead. Take every last one of the bastards out and destroy everything.”