Kill Chain (21 page)

Couches occupied by the
hostages.

Suddenly one bounded
toward him. “Niner!”

And he breathed a sigh of
relief.

Nancy Starling.

Alive.

Seodaemun
District
Seoul, Republic
of Korea

Dawson
stepped out of the vehicle, quickly surveying the scene. A rig parked on a side
road swarmed with Korean personnel, weapons raised as they covered it and the
surrounding area. Once again there was no driver, it another self-driving
prototype from Shinhan Motors reported stolen two days ago—it had apparently
just driven off the lot along with another, smaller truck, the security gate
overridden somehow, allowing them to pass.

All things that would
have raised red flags had they been reported to him.

And according to their
liaison, the trucks were both custom orders with some unusual requests,
requests he had no doubt were made by those behind what was going on here today—remote
controlled rear gates, sliding floor panels, cameras and speakers mounted in
the rear cargo areas as well as the undercarriage.

The more they learned,
the more he realized just how long this had been in the works, and just how
well-funded and well-planned it was.

Jimmy had reported their
lone witness was dead, shot by drones, drones that had somehow kidnapped Niner
and their liaison, Senior Inspector Kim. The latest briefing from Langley,
while they were driving to this new location, indicated they might have found
who had manufactured the drones and weaponized them, though they couldn’t be
certain. If there was a way to figure it out, and figure it out fast, Kane was
the right man for the job.

Kane had been part of
Bravo Team years ago before joining the CIA. The Special Forces were prime
recruiting grounds for the Agency, and they had approached Dawson on numerous
occasions. But he wasn’t interested. It didn’t suit his personality. You had to
be a loner, and he enjoyed the comradery of the Unit far too much for that.

Kane, however, had always
been a loner.

It had been a good fit.

He watched as the rear
locking mechanism was blown, the blast followed by screams from inside. Female
screams. His heart leaped and he exchanged an excited glance with Atlas as they
both battled the urge to rush into the mix. The rear gate slammed to the ground
and the assault team surged forward, weapons aimed at the back of the truck.

Shouts from the team lead
had weapons lowering quickly, the beckoning arms of some of the officers
suddenly filled with well-dressed women leaning into the sunlight as they
accepted the welcoming arms of their saviors.

Dawson activated his
comm. “Control, Zero-One. Standby, we might have recovered the hostages, over.”
He scanned the faces, recognizing them all as support staff, all of whom had
files he had personally vetted.

But no VIPs.

No Nancy Starling.

He walked over to the
Canadian Prime Minister’s wife’s aide, someone he could be certain spoke
English. “Where are the VIPs?”

She shook her head, clearly
rattled though relieved. “Sorry, I don’t know. They took them.”

“Where?”

She pointed at the truck.
“There’s a panel in the floor. It opened and then they ordered Nancy to climb
down first, into the sewer I think, then the rest of them, one by one.”

He motioned to Atlas.
“Check it out.”

Atlas leaped in the back,
examining the floor then bending down, yanking something aside. He dropped to
his knees, his head disappearing for a moment before rising. “There’s an
opening here that leads to a manhole.”

Dawson’s eyebrows rose.
“Like a sewer?”

Atlas hopped back down to
the pavement, several Korean officers dropping through the newly discovered
opening. “Could be. Doesn’t smell as bad as all that, though.”

Dawson’s eyes narrowed.
“And you could see the hole? No manhole cover?”

Atlas shook his head.
“Nope. It’s been removed.”

Dawson looked about.
“Then where is it?”

Atlas grunted, joining in
the search. “Dunno.”

“Well, somebody had to
remove it.” That meant they had another potential witness, or perhaps finally an
actual perpetrator. For all they knew at this point, they could be dealing with
one lone nut, or a hundred well-organized and funded eco-terrorists. They
needed more intel. More
human
intel.

It was frustrating not
having a target to shoot.

He turned to the woman.
“Did you see anyone?”

She shook her head. “Sorry,
no. Never. Just those cursed drones. They ordered the others through the floor
then told us to wait quietly, otherwise the truck would blow up.”

“How long ago?”

She shrugged. “Sorry, not
really sure. In all the excitement, I never thought to check my watch. An hour
maybe?”

“Okay, thank you.” He
motioned toward a row of ambulances that were arriving, the others rescued led
away by paramedics. “Go with them, they’ll help you.”

She nodded, then paused.
“You’re American?”

“Yes.”

“Tell your President that
his daughter was okay when I last saw her, and that she was an extremely brave young
woman.”

Dawson bowed slightly.
“He’ll be happy to hear that, I’m sure.”

She put a hand on his
arm. “Thank you.” She turned and joined the others as another half-dozen
officers disappeared through the opening in the floor and into the sewers, a
search evidently underway, a search Dawson had little doubt would turn up
nothing.

This was the final
switch.

There were no cameras
underground. They could have been led anywhere, any distance. And this op had
been so well planned, he had no doubt wherever they came out, would have been
somewhere the perps had determined couldn’t be monitored.

The hostages were gone.

Without a trace.

As he watched the Korean
authorities do their job, he stared at the smoke still filling the horizon from
the downed airliner with Mrs. Cheng on board. All of their witnesses were dead,
and they had yet to see evidence of anyone actually involved, in-country. The
vehicles had been hacked, with instructions and threats delivered via email.
The drones had been weaponized most likely in China then shipped here, only to
be opened innocently by curious bakery workers concerned about perishable goods.
The transfer vehicle, this semi, was automated and custom-built for the
purpose—by the manufacturer.

So far, there had been no
need for their adversary even to set foot on this side of the globe, let alone
the city.

Except for the manhole
cover.

A sudden burst of excitement
over the radios had several of the senior on-site personnel rushing toward the
truck.

“What’s going on?” he
demanded, grabbing one of them.

“They found something!”

Dawson pointed at Jagger
and Spock. “You two stay here, Atlas you’re with me.” He leaped into the back
of the truck, Atlas on his heels, pushing the others aside. He dropped into the
hole, sliding down the ladder, hitting the sewer floor with a splash.

“Which way?”

An officer standing at
the bottom of the ladder pointed and he and Atlas sprinted through the tunnel,
the rest of the South Koreans hot on their heels. An officer guided them through
a three-way split in the tunnel and they soon arrived to find two more standing
at the bottom of another access point.

“What did you find?”

One of them held up a
gold chain, a small, plain cross dangling from it.

“That’s hers.” He
recognized it from their time in the jungle and from her file photos. “Where
did you find it?”

The man pointed at a
narrow walkway. “It was sitting there.”

Dawson smiled slightly at
Atlas. “Do you think she left it there?”

Atlas nodded. “Drones
don’t rip necklaces off little girls.”

Dawson grabbed the rungs
and quickly rushed up the ladder, a manhole cover blocking his way.

If they went out here,
then someone replaced it.

For a moment, he had his
doubts. If the necklace had fallen off for some innocent reason, this might not
be where they exited the tunnels—they could have gone anywhere. All they knew
for certain was they had reached this point. The manhole cover hadn’t been
replaced at their entry point, but then, it didn’t need to be. The truck had
been left to cover it, there no risk of it drawing attention.

Yet here, if this
was
the exit point, and another vehicle had been waiting for them, then it would
have needed to be replaced by someone, perhaps one of the hostages.

So it
could
be
their exit point.

He pushed on the manhole
cover and shoved his head up, dropping immediately back down as a car rushed
toward him, the tire slamming the grate back into its hole. He grabbed a
telescoping mirror from his utility belt and shoved it through one of the small
holes in the grate, spotting a break in the traffic. He shoved up, hard, the grate
lifting, then pushed it aside. He quickly pulled himself out of the hole and
onto the pavement, rushing forward, a hand raised as the traffic accelerated
toward him from a now green light.

Brakes screeched and what
he was sure were colorful Korean curses were shouted at him by several drivers
before they noticed his impressive MP5.

And Atlas’ massive frame
now beside him.

He had a feeling his
partner was more responsible for the change in attitude than the submachine
gun.

Half a dozen Korean
officers swarmed out of the hole, setting up a perimeter as Dawson surveyed the
area.

Nothing.

He activated his comm.
“Control, Zero-One. VIP support staff hostages recovered, but not the VIPs.
Lock onto my current location and start checking for footage of any vehicle
parked here for a while. We think they were transferred at this location,
over.”

“Roger that, Zero-One.”

Dawson stared at the
large, heavy grate, then at the street, pedestrians nearby.

Atlas looked at him. “What
are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking there’s no
way a dozen well-dressed women climb out of a storm sewer, replace a grate, and
get in a vehicle without someone noticing it, especially since the story’s hit
the news.”

“So another truck like
earlier? One with a panel in the floor?”

“Probably. The Canadian
said Nancy went first, which means she would have had to remove that grate on
her own.”

Atlas glanced at the
thick piece of metal. “Doubt that. She’s a pretty delicate thing.”

“Exactly. So it was
already moved, just like before.”

Atlas grunted. “Okay, by
who? The same guy who moved the other one? And if you’re willing to move grates,
why not drive? If this final vehicle had a driver, he could move the first grate
just before the automated truck arrived, then park his truck here, moving this
one, then when everyone was in the back, replace it.”

Dawson shook his head,
something finally dawning on him. “They left almost half the hostages behind.”

“Right.”

“And that means they
didn’t need as big a vehicle.”

Atlas’ eyes narrowed.
“The second stolen vehicle.” He snapped his fingers. “It was a box van or
something, wasn’t it?”

Dawson nodded. “Yup, too
small to hold all of the hostages, which is why we ruled it out before, but
it’s just big enough to hold those they now have.”

Atlas frowned. “And it
blends a whole lot better than a rig.”

Dawson watched the
traffic now flowing around them again, at least three box vans within sight. Even
if Langley picked up the one they were searching for on camera, they’d have a
hell of a time tracking it.

Someone shouted to their
right and Dawson spun, raising his weapon, Atlas doing the same as they both
took a step toward a man who was waving his arms, rushing out of a Bonchon
Chicken outlet. Traffic careened to a halt as the young man stepped into the
street, oblivious to the danger.

Then he froze, his eyes
bulging, the weapons finally noticed.

A subcompact swerved impatiently
around the stopped cars, gunning it up the side before slamming on its brakes
as the driver finally noticed the paralyzed man in the middle of the road.
Dawson stepped forward, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, yanking him out
of the way just before a bumper took up residence in his former spot.

Rapid fire Korean erupted
from the man’s mouth, he staring directly into Dawson’s eyes, still in shock at
his near death experience.

“Buddy, I don’t
understand a word you’re saying.”

The man grabbed Dawson by
his bulletproof vest. “American?”

“Yes.”

One of the senior
officers rushed over, pulling the man away, a quick conversation taking place,
one Dawson couldn’t understand a word of.