A Northern Thunder (35 page)

“Come on, goddammit!” he whispered.
Peter Nampo’s standing there, a man so dangerous they brought me halfway around the world to get one stupid photo of him.

The slowing blades of the helicopter started to cast shadows over the men. The seconds seemed like an eternity. Will knew the entourage would greet their guest, take him back to wherever they had come from, and Peter Nampo would disappear, not to be seen for months. The opportunity was slipping away.

Then Will saw it. Nampo #2 moved. He did something Will hadn’t seen for years. Peter Nampo leaned to the side, briefly, adjusting his weight from one leg to the other. Nampo, he remembered, had an elevated shoe to compensate for his shorter leg. It was a characteristic the others could not share.

“Got him!” Will aimed the crosshair at the center of Peter Nampo’s forehead. The camera could focus down to the smallest detail. Will zoomed in on each of the others one more time, studying their bodies, their movements. One moved his left hand toward his face, but no other Nampo readjusted his weight.

Shifting the camera back to Peter Nampo, Will felt the beginnings of another snow flurry. The valley suddenly became dark and much colder. He could see the breath of the men as they spoke.

Will waited again, just to be certain. And again, Nampo shifted his weight off the shorter leg. Will could see the rotation of the slowing blades above Nampo’s head.

I’m certain
, Will thought as he squeezed the camera’s trigger. But the camera neither clicked nor snapped and, for a brief moment, it seemed to do nothing at all. He held the trigger down again, holding the crosshairs on Nampo’s forehead.
Goddammit, this must be—

A flash of brilliant light stopped him in mid-thought. Then he heard the boom. The flash, followed by the boom, momentarily blinded and deafened him.
A bolt of lightning in the midst of a snowstorm? A northern thunderclap?

“What the hell?” he said.

He looked back through the camera and saw Peter Nampo no more. A small cloud of smoke appeared where Nampo once stood. A few of the men who’d been closest to Nampo were on the ground. The other men, in shock, wandered around aimlessly. A thin blue streak of vapor, like a pencil, extended up into the clouds before momentarily dissipating in the air.

Will used the camera to scan the situation. The general was on the ground, confused and dazed. The blades of the helicopter were still rotating, but off their center. Each blade was actually a few feet shorter than before. “I’ll be damned,” said Will.

The laser, in vaporizing Peter Nampo, had sliced through the metal blades as they rotated over his head. The laser had exploded a body made up mostly of water molecules. Then, as it superheated the water molecules in the clouds above, it caused an explosive clap of sound, a deep thunder in the cold.

Will slid back under the overhang, dazed by the strike of thunder.
Krowl never wanted a photograph. He wanted me to assassinate Nampo. And that son of a bitch never intended to tell me a thing about it.
Will Parker’s suspicions had all been correct.
Now, I’m truly alone
, he thought.

Krowl couldn’t risk the assassination pointing back to the United States, Will realized.
There’s no way Krowl will allow me to escape
, he thought.
He’ll need to get rid of me.

“J
esus, what happened?” Scott saw the camera focus in on a man who appeared to be Peter Nampo, then watched as the screen went blank.

“ESC cut off all feeds,” said Markeet.

“How about the VTC to Krowl?”

“We’re still hooked up.”

“Turn up the volume.”

Scott could hear Krowl’s voice.

“Everyone leave except the airman on USA82,” said Krowl, sounding frantic. Scott heard the slam of a door.

“Okay, now turn to Target One,” said Krowl.

“Yes, sir.” It was the squeaky voice of a very young man, maybe one just out of puberty—obviously a young technician caught in the storm.

“How long before the laser’s online again?” said Krowl.

“Two minutes, sir.”

“How much time left?”

“Sixty-two seconds.”

Scott imagined what was going on in the ESC. He saw Krowl standing over the technician and his computer, breathing down on him as the computer’s targeting lined up for the second shot.

“Turn off the VTC,” said Scott

“What’s up, Scotty?” Markeet looked up at Scott.

“Just turn it off. We don’t need to hear this.” Scott knew what was going on. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to witness it. He also knew there was nothing he could do about it.

• • •

There wasn’t much Will could do, either. He pushed back below the overhang as machine guns fired sporadically, shooting at shadows. Bullets whizzed toward the other side of the valley.

Will pulled out again, to the ledge, and looked down. Two soldiers were firing at the slumped, twisted, dead body of the old farmer, lying in his garden. Others fired at the old man’s hut, riddling the walls with bullets. He was their only convenient target. Will slunk back, underneath the rock.

I’ll wait until dark and work my way back to the coast
, he thought.
The submarine will probably be gone by then.
Will imagined the boat commander receiving a Krowl dispatch that Parker had been lost, and the boat, in immediate danger, had to pull away from the coastline.

The snowstorm worsened as the sky grew darker. The firing of the Kalashnikovs echoed off the walls of the valley.

Another blinding flash of light. The second boom lifted Will up and threw him against the rock to the side of the overhang. He looked up and saw nothing but sky.

“That bastard!” he yelled.

The second laser shot struck and destroyed the rock of the overhang. Will knew instantly:
He
was the second target. He saw the North Korean troops look toward the rubble of the overhang. A white, pencil-like vapor streak went directly up into the sky. The laser had heated the humid air as it passed through, leaving a direct marker at Will’s location. If the laser didn’t kill him, its trail would. The “pop” sound of bullets suddenly surrounded him like a swarm of bees.

Somehow, Krowl’s tracing me.
He patted down his uniform, unsure where the tracer was. As bullets continued to crack all around him, Will pulled out of the rubble, ran up the side of the hill, and jumped behind a downed log.
That laser has to be recharging.

Parker ripped off the Type-64. All his training with the weapon meant nothing: It would do little good against an army, and for all he knew, it was the weapon Krowl was tracking. He stripped off his camouflage coveralls, too, along with his boots and socks—all his clothes, in fact. Naked, he ran through the forest, thinking how bizarre a sight he was.

Another flash.
The third flash struck behind the log where he’d left his pile of clothes. The laser struck a marker somewhere in the discarded uniform, or in the gun. The force knocked Will to the ground. He began to count. Two minutes had elapsed between blasts. That’s why Krowl had needed Will to identify Nampo: If he’d hit the wrong one, the others would escape before he could get another shot off.

Will made it to the stream, moving fast, working through the rocks. The cold water fazed him little. The snowstorm’s intensity increased. On his body, he felt a pelt of ice, immediately melted by his body heat. He heard the rumble of the waterfall ahead. The cold penetrated his feet, which he could hardly feel. He knew time was slipping away.

Past the waterfall, Will slid down, slipping under its icy flow, briefly out of sight.

First things first
, he thought.
I can hide from the North Koreans. I can’t hide from that laser.

It suddenly occurred to him. Will felt for the small scar on his abdomen, recalling the visit to the dentist’s office arranged by Krowl. Just below the skin, he felt a metal disc, the size of a quarter. It was like a bullet in his side. He knew what it did.
I need something sharp
, he thought.

Will reached down into the bottom of the streambed. Feeling through the round, smooth stones, he found a single sharp one resembling a piece of flint. He tugged with his icy cold, blue fingers. Then he grabbed the flap of skin, feeling the small disc in his grasp. He pulled the skin tight between his fingers, and held it in the flow of icy water from the waterfall.

Fifty-five seconds left before the next satellite shot.
He gave himself a five-second leeway on his count. Between the cold water and his tight grip, the skin turned blue.

“One, two, three.” He cut into the flesh, blood dripping down his side. Will exhaled with the pain, making no noise.

A bright silver disc popped out, plunking down into the water below the pool of the waterfall. Without pause, he resumed running, moving quickly over the snow accumulating again on the rocks. Blood poured down his side from the open wound. Far worse, the numbing effects of the cold crept through his body.

Blood droplets stained the white snow as he worked his way down the stream. Will could hear the commotion of the men following his trail. An occasional rifle shot rang out. They were still shooting at shadows.

Another brilliant flash of light.
The boom of the fourth strike knocked him down again, this time into the cold stream. He looked back, several meters upstream, where a cloud of steam rose from where the waterfall once stood. It was now a crumble of rocks.

I haven’t much time
, he thought.

Will wasn’t worried about Krowl anymore. To Krowl, it would appear that his last satellite strike had killed his target. The satellite would then be moved from its Korean GEO orbit to the other side of the world.

No, the cold was now the enemy. The North Koreans were now the enemy. Krowl would be another day.

Will worked through the stream, hopping from rock to rock, ignoring the cold, moving at a marathoner’s speed. The men behind him were moving but not closing. The snow and stream rocks slowed them. He was able to maintain a constant, rhythmic pace—until the lake.

I can go around it, but I’ll only leave a longer trail
, Will thought. No choice—he jumped headlong into the icy water. He couldn’t feel the wound at all now, the ice cold water erasing any conscious thought of pain. Knowing time was running out, Will stroked steadily across the center of the lake. He maintained one conscious thought:
I will survive.

Captain Sang led the lead patrol, hot on the trail down the streambed.

“Captain, he’s hurt,” said one of his soldiers.

The droplets of blood led down the stream.

“Do not kill him,” said Sang.

“Yes, sir.”

“Pass that word.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Captain, they’re bringing up the 112th battalion,” said the radio operator, following Sang closely.

“We’re heading toward the shoreline,” said Sang. “It’s getting dark. Tell them to bring up the naval patrol to cut off any escape.”

“Yes, sir. A patrol from Wonsan Harbor is heading south at this time.”

Sang looked up at the cliffs above the streambed, but his target remained hidden.

Will shivered uncontrollably as he dragged himself out of the brutally frigid water. The trail would stop on the other side, causing the North Korean patrol to split up and to go around both sides of the lake. Darkness would slow them further. Still, he had to get some protection to survive.

The cold water had flushed and numbed the wound, but it soon began to bleed again. He had to act fast.

Will worked his way up the streambed on the other side, crossing behind the large, round boulders to a group of pine trees—the pine trees where he’d left his second backpack.

He was shaking, his teeth chattering beyond control. Barely able to maintain consciousness, Will was now a blue tint from head to toe. He pulled aside the pine straw, grabbing the backpack from the hole.

From inside, Will pulled out two silver, plastic packs, ripping them open. Two large patches, similar to brown oversized band-aids, were marked—one as nutrition, the other as glucose/maltodextrin. He pulled the tape off each, sticking them to the sides of his neck. Both subcutaneous feeds pushed high-energy fuel into his bloodstream, directly through his skin.

Will also removed a small clear tube, no bigger than a tube of superglue. It was marked “permabond.” He broke off its white cap and clinched the two edges of the wound with his fingers. He winced as he squirted the clear, glue-like substance onto the edges of his wound. Will held the skin together for slightly over a minute as the wound sealed. He used a handful of snow to wash off the remaining streak of dried blood.

A noise of men clattered through the woods to the north side of the lake. They were close and getting closer. It didn’t matter—his most immediate problem was still the cold.

Will ripped open another package marked “Soldiers Systems Center Natick Labs—SEACU.” SEACU was devoted to supplying the best military equipment in the world, and this was it. Will’s hands shook as he pulled on an olive brown, rubber-like jumpsuit—black soled shoes, gloves, and a hood, all built into a single garment. Will slipped the suit on, covering everything but his eyes, but the olive brown color stood out, even near the stand of pine trees.