The Scarlet Crane: Transition Magic Book One (The Transition Magic Series 1) (30 page)

“And if it doesn’t go as planned?” John asked.

Estival nodded. “Plan B. If we can’t secure the camp in twenty minutes, we pull the teams back, use the Apaches to level the place, and get the hell out of dodge.”

John said, “Let me guess. If we get stuck and can’t get away, Plan C.”

“Yeah,” Estival said. “The Admiral turns his missiles loose to tidy up everything, including whatever’s left of us.”

John settled back in his chair, unhappy, but unable to think of an argument that would give them more time on the ground.

Estival said, “We’ve built a quick and dirty mockup of all this in a remote corner of Osan and will be practicing our attack runs until we’re out of time.”

Rangel tapped at his watch. “And we’ve really got to go.”

“See you at 2300.”

* * *

John sat strapped in the back of a Black Hawk MH-70 as the helo bounced, rattled, and jigged, hugging the contours of the terrain screaming past a scant dozen feet below. Dim, blood-red compartment lighting reflected from the painted faces of the twenty SEALs surrounding him, some of them sleeping as the helo hurtled through the night.

Late in the afternoon Estival had returned to the Quonset conference room to give John boots, VCUs, and jackets. The insulated clothing had kept him warm for the first half hour of the flight, but the cold eventually soaked through the layers of clothing, leaving him shivering.

As he’d settled into his seat to begin the mission, Rangel handed him headphones. “Once the attack starts, you’re gonna go crazy sitting in here, wondering what’s going on. I’ll relay whatever I can. It won’t be much, because Estival’s men will be keeping chatter to a minimum.”

Their route had carried them east over the Sea of Japan, then north for a hundred miles before turning northwest toward their objective. The streaked faces had shouted a collective “hoo-rah!” as they penetrated the North Korean coastline without detection.

Commander Estival’s voice crackled in John’s earphones. “Ten minutes.”

The platoon lieutenant bellowed at his men. “Pucker up! Ten minutes to drop.”

Hoeryong

The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea

Zhi stood in the observation room, once again staring through the one-way mirror at the lavender aura that cloaked the children in the Conservatory. They were completing the ritual magic designed to cure Wu and bind him to Zhi.

Even though it was past midnight and the day of training had been exhausting, the children had been excited and enthusiastic about using their magic to please their Uncle Eng.

They’d worked their way to the final stanza of the Transition ritual. The child on Eng’s left was saying:

“Hear me: This is directed at Delegate Wu Jintao, our beloved grandfather and honored leader of the Crane program. Create enhanced LET-7 micro RNA in Comrade Wu’s lungs to rid him of lung cancer. So thus I beseech.”

A biochemical silver bullet enhanced by magic’s unique aim. Wu will be healed.

Then the child in the middle:

“Hear me: This is directed at Delegate Wu Jintao, our beloved grandfather and honored leader of the Crane program. Increase neuron cell firing and dopamine release in Comrade Wu’s mesolimbic brain region, even greater than with heroin, whenever Comrade Wu thinks of Senior Colonel Zhi’s happiness. So thus I beseech.”

And he will be addicted to keeping me happy.

Then the final verse from the child on the right:

“Hear me: This is directed at Delegate Wu Jintao, our beloved grandfather and honored leader of the Crane program. Increase dopamine persistence in Comrade Wu’s mesolimbic brain region, even greater than with cocaine, whenever Comrade Wu thinks of Senior Colonel Zhi’s happiness. So thus I beseech.”

Twice addicted. If anything were to happen to me, he would die of withdrawal and despair.

The lavender glow disappeared, and the children leapt from their chairs in delight. Eng rose and held out his arms to embrace them. “You bring great honor to your ancestors. Our revered grandfather has been saved.” Two of the kids jumped into his arms, tears of joy streaming down their cheeks. Zhi noticed that the girl taken in Transition from Hanoi—he didn’t recall her name—held back from the group embrace.

She’s a wary one. No matter. She’s served her purpose and Repatriation will solve any issues of loyalty.

Eng motioned the children to the door. “Scoot. Everyone out.”

On the other side of the glass, Zhi began pacing, anxious for Eng to begin the next session.

There was a soft tap on the observation room door. Zhi strode to the door and swung it open. Two guards stood next to a gurney on which the unconscious American lay strapped. Zhi directed the guards to push the gurney against the back wall of the darkened room. They scurried from the room as Eng entered.

Eng glanced at the gurney. “The next group will be here momentarily. Is your prisoner ready?”

Zhi nodded. “She’s alive, but only just. Begin as soon as you have them settled.”

Eng nodded and returned next door to the Conservatory.

Zhi turned and walked to the gurney, gazing at the unconscious woman. He absent-mindedly caressed the butt of the QSZ-92 pistol that rested in the holster on his side. Magic would heal the American enough to surrender all she knew, providing the information Zhi needed to kill her colleague.

After I’ve wrung all I can from her, I’ll put a bullet through the bitch’s heart.

He heard the murmurs of little voices behind him and turned to watch as the group of children entered the room and settled into their chairs. A faint rumble, like distant thunder on a hot summer day, skittered across his consciousness. A distant part of his mind wondered at the sound, nagging him to check it.

As soon as the kids finish.

He concentrated on what was happening on the other side of the glass.

“Are you ready to proceed?” Eng asked. Three small faces nodded solemn agreement. “Very well.” Eng pointed at the first child and nodded.

“I invoke my birthright to the Power granted by Transition. I beseech …”

Hoeryong

The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea

“Ready?” Thanna whispered to Bian and Ly. They were walking several meters behind the soldier who had brought them from the room where they used magic to cure Uncle Wu. Thanna felt scared and excited, more from what they were about to do than from what they had just done.

The two girls nodded, their faces pale with the same fright.

Now everything depends on my little ones.

The soldier opened the door to the dorm.

“WHOOP! CAN’T FIND US!” Kim and Duc screamed and bolted through the door, dodged the soldier, and ran out of the dorm like a banshee was after them.

“Stop!” the soldier yelled and ran to catch them. The boys sped up, Kim going one way and Duc the other, into the maze of hallways.

Thanna yelled at the kids in the dorm, “
trò chơi trốn tìm
—hide and seek! Everybody run hide! One who hides the longest gets extra ice cream!”

She ran from the room and stopped, holding the door open. Kids poured out, scattering like ants.

Bian and Ly remained behind with Thanna, ready to join her and use magic of their own.

“Quick! We don’t have much time,” Thanna said. Bian and Ly nodded. The three had been practicing every chance they could get alone. The teachers and soldiers thought they had been playing or practicing for Uncle Eng.

Thanna reached into her back pocket and retrieved the post card showing the beach on Morea. She placed it on the floor among them and raised her hand, pointing at Bian. “Begin.” Her voice sounded eerily like Uncle Eng’s, low and calm.

“I invoke my birthright to the Power granted by Transition. I beseech this Power to grant my request. I honor the requirements of Transition and affirm …”

While Bian continued, Thanna pointed to Ly, who began:

“I invoke my birthright to the Power granted by Transition. I beseech this Power to grant my request. I honor the requirements of Transition and affirm …”

The hint of an iridescent lavender light surrounded each of them.

Just as Ly finished, Thanna began:

“I invoke my birthright to the Power granted by Transition. I beseech this Power to grant my request. I honor the requirements of Transition and affirm …”

On they went, their tiny symphony spoken in perfect coordination.

Trident Prime

John slammed into his seat restraints as the Black Hawk’s forward velocity was slashed and the helicopter settled into a hover. His heart rate spiked when the doors on both sides of the Black Hawk were shoved open. Frigid air surged into the compartment, the noise and cold overwhelming his senses.

“Go, go, go!” Estival’s voice yelled over the comms, immediately relayed by the lieutenant to his men.

Two SEALs nearest the doors tossed braided nylon ropes out the openings. The combat unit unbuckled, stood, queued before the doors, grabbed the ropes, and dropped over the side, vanishing into the blackness.

John was alone in less than a minute. He punched the digital timer on his watch. Estival’s voice echoed in his mind.

Twenty minutes to get this done.

The helo banked right and settled onto the compound’s parking lot, the second troop transport on one side of them, the backup helo on the other. The pilots shifted into flight idle, conserving fuel, but remaining ready to move on a second’s notice.

Rangel’s voice, as calm as an announcer for a boring baseball game, popped into the headset. “Heavy resistance in the barracks. More guards than we expected.”

Fourteen minutes.

He crawled to the helicopter door facing the compound and squatted down at the edge of the opening. The area was illuminated with the telltale yellow of sodium vapor streetlights. As he stared, the lights died in response to a series of sharp pops. His tension grew as the darkness around them deepened.

The building nearest the parking lot had tall windows wrapping one end. Yellow-white flashes strobed behind the glass.

“We’ve taken a building with a couple of apartments; probably the Chinese commander’s quarters. Lightly guarded.”

Eleven.

“Captured another building, this one with a large radio setup. Unmanned. Don’t know if they got a call off. Has an empty jail cell in the middle of it.”

Where the hell are the kids? Stony? Seven minutes.

“Man down in the barracks. Fighting intense, taking too long to clear. No sign of any kids. Estival has called for the team to pull back. He’s directing the Apaches to destroy the building.”

Four minutes.

The Apaches swept in from the east and took positions thirty yards from the barracks. Flashes of fire lanced from the copters, and the building exploded in fury.

Jesus God. Was anyone in there?

“Scratch one Chinese building.”

Time’s up.

“We’re into the last building. It looks like a dorm, but there are no kids in it.”

Where the hell are they? Nothing about Stony.

Commander Estival materialized a couple of feet in front of him, like a wraith, huge, stinking of gunpowder, face streaked with paint and dirt.

“Shit!” John squawked. He sprang backward and fell on his ass.

Blood spattered Estival’s jacket, but he appeared unhurt. He was breathing in ragged gulps.

“We’re secure,” Estival said.

John nodded and said, “The Chief said you had a man down.”

Estival grimaced. “One dead, three wounded. Come on, we’re out of time.”

“You find the kids? Stony?” John asked.

Estival was loping toward the compound and he didn’t look back. John scrambled to keep up. “No. We’re looking for hidey holes.”

“Stony?”

Estival ignored the question and led him toward the northernmost building. They entered and rushed down a long hall. “I can’t make much sense of the layout here; maybe you can.” His voice was hushed, solemn. He turned from the hall into a small room with a splintered entrance door. The wall on his left held a large one-way window, a gurney was shoved up against a rack of audio-visual gear on the opposite side of the room. A dead Chinese colonel was sprawled on the floor.

A SEAL with a caduceus on his shoulder stood next to the gurney, adjusting an IV, obscuring his motionless patient. He completed the adjustment and moved to the far side of the stretcher, inspecting a large blood-soaked bandage that wrapped the woman’s left shoulder.

Woman. Stony.

John muttered, “Sweet Jesus, what have they done to you?”

He lurched across the room as if in a trance, reached down, and gently pushed her hair out of her face.

She was naked; a crimson-stained sheet was piled at the foot of the stretcher. Bloody clots matted her maroon-streaked dark hair, and purple-yellow bruises covered her torso. A crusty, pus-filled cavity was all that remained of her left eye. A bulky, blood-soaked compress was taped across her left shoulder.

John swallowed the hot, acid liquid that bubbled up from his stomach. He jerked his eyes toward the SEAL who was treating her. “How bad?”

“I don’t see how she’s still alive. She almost bled out from the gunshot wound. I’m trying to stabilize her for the return, but …” His voice drifted off.

“Just give her a chance,” John said. “She’s stubborn as hell, and she’ll fight. Just give her a chance.”

John turned and looked at the sidearm next to the body on the floor.

Estival said, “My guy—Tim—broke into the room and shot this son of a bitch.” He nodded at the dead Colonel. “But not before the fucker shot Agent Hill. His ID says that he was Senior Colonel Zhi Peng. His aide was in the next room over. We took him alive and will bring him back with us for questioning.” He paused, then whispered, “If only we’d gotten in here sooner.”

“Tim saved Stony’s life. Thank you, each one of you.” John didn’t know if he actually said anything or just thought he did.

Keep moving. Mourn later.

He shoved his emotions into a tiny dark closet in his mind, pushed the door closed. He turned to Estival. “Still no sign of any kids?”

“Plenty of sign, but we haven’t found a single kid.”

“Maybe they ran into the countryside.”

“Maybe,” Estival said. “If they did, we can’t take the time to search for them. They’re as good as gone.”

John felt a wave of nausea wash over him. “Turn the place inside out. You uncover any records storage?”

“One lateral file in one of the buildings. We’re boxing up the files, but there’s not much.”

“Show me,” John said. “How much time do we have?”

Estival said, “Six-seven minutes, max.”

* * *

The commander led John to the building with the two apartments and a large, opulently furnished office. Floor to ceiling windows filled most of two walls.

The windows I saw from the Black Hawk.

A sign outside the door identified the office as Zhi’s. A placard on the desk outside the office was for Major Zhang Meng, the guy Estival’s men had captured in the room next to Stony.

A solitary lateral file cabinet with two empty drawers sat behind Meng’s desk. Next to the cabinet were four open banker’s boxes filled with files. John looked around. No computers. He bent and flipped through the files. Nothing but the usual office crap.

He asked Estival, “Computers?”

“Half dozen of them scattered around the camp. They’re already on the chopper.”

“Did you find any place where something might have been burned? A fifty gallon drum outside? A furnace?”

“No sir. Nothing like that. No more file cabinets, either.”

Maybe the good stuff is on the computers.

“We gotta get out of here,” Estival said. “We’re way behind plan.”

“Fuck, we can’t leave the kids behind.”

“What kids? We can’t find them. Besides, we’ve got no choice. If we delay any more, and we’ll get lit up by friendlies.”

* * *

John sat strapped into the Black Hawk that carried Stony and the injured SEALs. He stared through the open door at the neighboring empty Black Hawk, where excited and scared kids should have been.

The doc had warned him that Stony probably wouldn’t survive the trip.

I thought I could protect her. How the hell could I let it end this way, me alive and her dying?

A small smile lit his face.

She would remind me that she isn’t dead yet. Tell me to quit my damn bellyaching.

He leaned back and closed his eyes as the doors slammed shut. The rotors spun up, and the helicopter tried to shake itself apart for the flight back to Seoul.

We did it, kiddo. Crane is no more.