The Target

Chapter 57

They flew to China and traveled to the coast by puddle jumper. From there they took a boat across Korea Bay at night and landed at the end of a small inlet that cut deeply into the North Korean coastline. The closest town was Anju. Bukchang was roughly thirty-five miles due east from their location.

There were just the three of them: Robie, Reel, and Kim Sook. They were all dressed in black, their faces also blackened. Robie and Reel were heavily armed and had state-of-the-art communication gear. They hoped to be able to use it at some point to later rendezvous with their support team.

Robie looked at Kim Sook as they tied down their high-performance rigid-hulled inflatable boat. The RIB could reach speeds of over fifty knots using relatively quiet engines.

“You ready?” Robie asked.

“Little late for that,” said Sook.

“Just checking.”

They had maps and directions loaded on electronic devices attached to their wrists like watches. Above them an American satellite was feeding them details about what lay ahead. In their earwigs a constant stream of intelligence info was being sent.

Stealth was critical here, but so was speed. They had a long distance to cover and they needed to get there and back while it was still dark. That would be impossible on foot. So they had something else — three small scooters, powered by batteries, which ran very quietly. There were also pedals that helped to recharge the batteries. With night-vision optics they could see in the dark. Robie went first, Sook took the middle, and Reel brought up the rear.

They stuck to the road as far as they dared, then went off road as they drew closer to the camp. Bukchang was in the middle of nowhere, so they would not have to navigate a city or any sort of populated area before reaching it. You didn’t build concentration camps among millions of people.

They encountered no problems on the trip in. The satellite gave them a clear line to the camp. The intelligence chatter updated them on recent developments.

Du-Ho and Eun Sun, Pak’s adopted son and daughter, were being held in a hut near the back of the camp. Unlike other prisoners, who were lumped fifty to a hut, the Paks were being held by themselves with special guards. But having only two prisoners in the hut didn’t make it easier for the rescue attempt; it made it more difficult. The other huts were not individually guarded. Apparently the North Koreans anticipated trouble securing Pak’s children.

It had been confirmed that a coded message had been passed to Du-Ho and Eun Sun. They had not been told what night it would happen, because if that information had fallen into the wrong hands it would have been disastrous. But the two would know that a rescue attempt was being made and that they would have to be ready.

When Robie, Reel, and Sook drew close to the camp they dismounted from their scooters and hid them in a patch of trees. Sook changed his clothes, wiped off his face, and hoisted an old duffel bag over his shoulder. Now he looked like a typical North Korean peasant. He took to the road while Robie and Reel paralleled his movements through the trees.

The outer perimeter patrol of Bukchang lay dead ahead.

As Sook walked along three guards approached him. They told him to stop and identify himself. He did so, telling them that he was traveling east to Hamhung to see his family and take a job there he had been promised. He gave them his paperwork, which had been expertly prepared.

While two of them searched his duffel the lead guard examined the paperwork. He finally handed it back.

“You are near Bukchang camp.” He pointed to the north. “You must head that way. There is a road that will take you around the camp and then you can head east.” He suddenly eyed Sook suspiciously. “What sort of job are you going to do in Hamhung?”

“Farming.”

“Let me see your hands.”

Sook held them up. They were roughened and callused. He had spent a week making them so.

The guard nodded. “Then go work your ox and smell your horse shit,” he said, and the other guards laughed.

They stopped laughing when three rounds from suppressed weapons entered their bodies, dropping them where they stood.

Robie and Reel emerged from the woods and dragged the bodies into the cover of the trees. Robie slipped off one of the guards’ walkie-talkies and handed it to Sook so he could listen in on local communications.

They moved on and soon reached the rear outer fence of the camp. They had been given the patrol times of the guards and waited for four of them to pass by before moving closer to the fence. They knew it was electrified and had come prepared for that. Using a laser, Reel cut through enough strands to allow a good-sized hole that each of them could slip through.

Sook went first, followed by Reel and then Robie. The hut they wanted was at the very back of the camp. As they crept forward they saw a burst of light and then realized it was a guard lighting a cigarette. Reel and Robie circled the hut, counting off the number of guards surrounding it.

Four. Like the intel had said.

Then they separated. Reel went left and Robie and Sook went right.

Reel spoke into her headset to Robie. He listened and said, “Affirmative. Three count on second hand sweep at twelve.”

He pulled two tranquilizer pistols from holsters and aimed each at a different guard. Now that they were inside the camp they didn’t want to make any unnecessary noise. Based on the satellite reports and intelligence on the ground, they both carried two dart guns, for a total of four shots, equaling the number of anticipated guards. Fortunately, that number had not changed.

On the other side of the hut Reel was doing the same. It was more difficult than it looked, aiming two guns simultaneously at two different targets, but they had no choice. Dropping less than all four guards with the first volley would allow the others to react and shoot back. The entire camp would be alerted.

They each looked at their watches until the second hand hit twelve. Then they took double aim, counted “three Mississippi” in their heads, and fired both weapons.

Four men fell.

Sook rushed forward and into the hut.

Robie and Reel were right on his six.

Du-Ho and Eun Sun were not asleep and were dressed in their work clothes. Sook explained to them who their rescuers were and what they were about to do. They asked no questions, but merely nodded and followed them out.

They were through the hole in the fence and had fled down a path toward the woods when it happened.

A siren went off.

As they looked back, lights in the camp blazed on and they heard feet rushing and motors starting.

Robie pointed up an embankment. “This way. Now.”

They ran up the embankment. Luckily, Du-Ho and Eun Sun were young and in good shape. They had no difficulty keeping up, also no doubt energized by the realization that if they were caught they would be executed.

As Robie and Reel rushed along she said, “Do you think we were set up?”

Sook answered. “I just heard on the walkie-talkie. The guards you shot on the perimeter were found.”

“Great,” said Robie. “Let’s double-time it.”

“This way,” said Sook, pointing to his left. “It’s a shortcut to where we left the scooters.”

The five fled along the dark road. Robie kept a hand on Du-Ho and guided him along using his night optics while Reel did the same with Eun Sun.

They reached the scooters and Eun Sun climbed on with Reel while Du-Ho boarded Robie’s. They hurtled down a path toward the road. Looking behind her, Reel saw headlights on the road. She spoke into her headset, telling Robie of the bogies coming.

Robie stopped his scooter and got Du-Ho to climb on with Sook.

“Good luck,” Reel told him.

“If I’m not back in two minutes after you reach the RIB, go. Don’t wait for me.”

They set off and Robie doubled back, carrying a weapon over his shoulder. He knelt down on a knoll overlooking the road, took aim, and fired.

The RPG round hit the lead truck right in the radiator. It exploded, sending debris hundreds of feet into the air. It also did something else; it effectively blocked the road.

But the firing of the RPG had revealed his position, and bullets started flying at Robie from the other trucks. He loaded in another rocket, took aim, and fired at the second truck even as a round thudded into his chest and knocked him on his ass.

The second truck blew up and Robie heard the screams of men who were probably torn apart or burning to death.

He looked down at his chest where the round had nearly gone through his armored vest. He could feel the bruise on his sternum. It felt like he’d been hit by a car.

He rose and picked up his rifle.

There were two more trucks back there, but they couldn’t get through the obstruction formed by the pair of destroyed vehicles. The troops were running past the flames and firing at his position.

Robie readied his auto rifle, set out the bipod support legs, got in a prone position, exhaled a long breath, nestled his chin against the weapon’s stock, sighted through the night scope, took aim, and fired. And he kept firing. Acquiring a target and pulling the trigger. Acquiring another target and pulling the trigger.

He could have been on a firing range calmly mowing down paper targets. Except that here men were shooting back at him. Bullets whipped all around him. But he had the high ground and he kept firing. And with each shot a man died.

As he ran out of ammo the first mortar round exploded barely fifty feet from him, shaking the earth so violently that his rifle fell over and his face was driven into the dirt.

The next round fired, he knew, would be closer.

He couldn’t stay here any longer. The only thing he could do in the face of superior fire and manpower was retreat.

He ran back to his scooter and climbed on.

With only one person on it the scooter’s speed was much improved.

He zoomed down the path, then veered left and down the embankment and onto the road. He wound the scooter up to its top speed while shots whizzed past him. He rode for about five minutes, putting as much distance between him and his pursuers as possible.

He realized he was not yet out of range of the mortar when a round struck ahead of him, lighting the night sky like a million candles. He had to cut the scooter sharply to the right and up an embankment to avoid being hit by debris.

He flung himself off the scooter as another mortar round hit less than twenty feet from him. The impact again shook the earth, and the concussive force of the explosion sent him tumbling painfully along the rough terrain.

When he rose, covered in dirt, a pain stabbed through his leg. He felt around his thigh and his hand came away wet and reddened.

When he hustled back and looked down at the scooter his spirits sank. The front wheel was shattered. He looked up ahead of him. Still miles and miles to go. It would take him forever on foot. The boat would be long gone.

He looked behind him. They were still coming.

Well, Robie thought, this is it. But he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

He pulled his pistols from their holsters and made sure they were fully loaded. He started running, but his bad leg made it difficult. Still, everything about his job was difficult, so he forced the pain from his mind and just sucked it up.

He had covered about two painful miles when he heard it.

The whump-whump was a familiar sound to him.

The North Koreans had called in air support.

Well, that was smart. And also the end of the road for him.

He looked to the sky and saw the darkened silhouette of the chopper. There were no running lights on the bird and he wondered why. He expected a searchlight to start probing the ground for his location.

Instead, his earwig crackled.

“Agent Robie, this is Lieutenant Commander Jordan Nelson of the United States Navy in the chopper. We understand you might need some assistance.”

“That’s a roger.”

“We’ve been tracking you via the electronic location signal you’re wearing, but can you give us your precise coordinates, sir?”

Robie looked at the illuminated device on his wrist and reeled off his exact position to Nelson.

The chopper immediately circled and then came down closer to the ground in an opening among the trees.

Nelson’s voice came on the earwig again. “Afraid you’re going to have to make a skid grab, sir. We can’t land properly here.”

“On my way.”

Robie hustled across the open ground to where the chopper was hovering about six feet off the dirt.

Nelson’s voice said warningly, “We’ve got bogies on your six and four at ten meters. We have to go, sir. Right now.”

The North Koreans had made up a lot of ground. Maybe they had moved the trucks and gotten vehicles through. And now the chopper was acting like a beacon for them. None of it was good.

Bad wheel and all, Robie ran like he never had before. This was his absolute last chance.

Three feet from the chopper, with incoming fire slicing through the air, he jumped and his hands smacked against the left skid of the bird. He immediately wrapped his legs around the skid and held on with all his strength.

“Go! Go!” he screamed into his headset.

The chopper shot vertically with such speed that Robie’s stomach felt like it had been left back on the ground.

With rifle rounds still pinging all around them, the chopper cleared the trees, banked hard to the left, shot across the sky, and righted itself, and then the pilot slammed the throttle forward.

As they raced west across the darkened sky, the chopper’s side door slid open and a helmeted man peered down at him. He shouted, “Would you like to ride in the first-class section, sir?”

“If you’ve got room,” Robie shouted back. “Coach kind of sucks.”

The chopper’s winch was deployed and a weighted cable was lowered down to the skid. The pilot cut back on the power so the wind forces on the cable would be reduced.

Robie grabbed the cable, which had a harness attached, and wrapped it around his middle, cinching the belt tight. He gave the helmeted man a thumbs-up and the chopper reduced speed and hovered in the air.

Robie let go of the skid and swung out into space. The cable motor was engaged and he slowly rose. When he reached the door, two men there, who were attached to cables so they couldn’t fall to their deaths, maneuvered the winch closer to the chopper and then helped him inside. They took off the harness and the winch was retracted to its original position. The chopper’s door slid shut and Robie managed to grab a seat right before the pilot pushed the bird to full throttle and they raced across the sky.

“Are you injured, sir?” asked one of the men.

“Nothing that’ll kill me. But I need you to get a message to Agent Reel. I don’t want her to—”

“Already done, sir. She was the one who sent for us to assist you. They have reached their RIB and are on their way back out to sea. We’re from the same carrier that will be picking them up in Korea Bay. USS George Washington. We’ll rendezvous there.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear,” said a relieved Robie.

“Oh, and Agent Reel asked me to pass a message along to you.”

“What’s that?”

The helmet came off, revealing a sandy-haired young man of about twenty. He was grinning. “To quote, sir, you owe her a kickass dinner and a very expensive bottle of wine.”

Robie smiled back. “Yes, I do.”