WHATEVER THE COST: A Mark Cole Thriller (9 page)

BOOK: WHATEVER THE COST: A Mark Cole Thriller
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3

Park Hae-sung pushed through the door of the Vietopia and immediately saw his target ahead, seated at a table with a ridiculous-looking man in a pink t-shirt.

Park was not a patient man at the best of times, and believed that direct action should be used wherever possible.
A sixth degree black belt in the Korean martial art of
taekwondo
and a fifth degree in
hapkido
, much of Park’s outlook on life was determined by the theories of the martial arts.

Whereas
taekwondo was a hard, aggressive art, characterized by a spectacular variety of powerful kicking attacks, hapkido
was considered a ‘softer’ method, more defensive in nature and using the opponent’s energies against them using many of the same principles of Japanese
aikido
.

Park was a taekwondo man through and through.

Like now, for example. As leader of the four-man special operations team which had just been called into action from their home base in Singapore, Park had been charged with determining the location of a pirate hideout by getting information from a man called Wong Xiang.

And while it was true that a subtle approach might entail less danger, he had not joined the Third Bureau of the RGB to avoid danger; he had put himself through the hell of selection and training so that he could throw himself into the thick of the action, and be rewarded for it. Major Ho expected results, and he would get them.

With two of his men left outside to guard the street, Park nodded to his partner, Chae Hyoon-seok, and approached the arms broker with his 9mm handgun already raised.

 

Cole was down on the street in under a minute, a Fairbairn-Sykes commando dagger he’d bought earlier in the city palmed by his side. He wished he’d brought some weapons with him from Cambodia, but he’d been unwilling to travel with them; since the hijacking of the Fu Yu Shan, airports throughout Indonesia were undergoing thorough security checks in a bid to find any cargo which might be being shipped around the area.

The dagger would have to do.

He saw the two men left outside, eyeballing him as he crossed the street. Cole made a show of ignoring them, fumbling in his pocket for the keys to his rental.

The trouble was
, he had no idea who these people were. If they were Chinese, they could well be from the PLA special forces, which made them US allies under the Mutual Defense Treaty; and if they made Wong Xiang talk, then wouldn’t that be a good thing?

And yet for some reason that Cole couldn’t quite articulate, he had a bad feeling about these guys; something about them was off, and Cole had learnt over the years to listen to his instincts. If his gut was telling him something, it was probably his subconscious taking in millions of pieces of information, sorting and deciphering them in fractions of a second and making a decision
based on evidence that his conscious mind simply had yet to process.

He knew that the two men would be able to spot a fellow operative, and so stumbled slightly, throwing his
balance off intentionally; not so much as to appear drunk, but just enough to disarm the men slightly, disguise his true ability.

But it was no good – the men were too well-trained, too sharp to be deceived, and Cole watched as they started to draw their venerable yet highly reliable Browning Hi-Power 9mm pistols
, eyes locked onto him.

At the same time, Cole broke into a sprint towards the two men; Chinese agents or not, they were about to shoot him in cold blood, and Cole could now feel justified in any action he might take against them.

He raced between the cars and chopped the callused edge of his hand down onto the forearm of the first man, making him drop the gun which was still only half-way out; at the same time, he slashed across at the second man, aiming for the throat.

But the agent moved with seemingly superhuman speed, dropping his gun – near useless now at this distance – and stopping Cole’s arm with a vice-like grip around his wrist, stiletto blade just an inch from his throat.

Cole felt a blow to the side of his head from the first man, a powerful shot from someone who knew what he was doing, and he felt his knees buckle beneath him, even as the second man twisted the knife from his grasp.

The first man aimed a fast roundhouse kick at his head, but Cole managed to slip underneath, taking hold of the man’s groin and violently twisting his testicles, shooting out a low side-kick to the second man’s knee.

The man with the mangled groin stifled a scream but fell to the sidewalk, and the second jammed a foot into Cole’s leg to stop the kick, jabbing the pointed blade of Cole’s dagger towards his face.

Cole slipped his head to one side, aiming his
hardened fingertips in a dagger thrust of his own. The blow caught the man just next to the solar plexus, his jacket putting Cole’s aim off slightly, but it was enough to stun him momentarily.

Not knowing what was going o
n inside the restaurant, Cole knew he had to end this encounter quickly; but the men were damned good, and wouldn’t make it easy for him.

He turned to kick the first man, but to Cole’s surprise, he was already
back on his feet, launching a vicious spinning kick of his own towards Cole’s head.

Cole knew the blow would be aimed at his temple; a killing technique, and one of the trademarks of
the martial art of taekwondo. Cole wondered for a brief instant if the men could be Korean – and if so, what the hell their interest in this could be – and then ducked inside the kick, catching the kicking leg under one arm and scooping up the man’s body with the other, kicking out the supporting leg from underneath him.

Manhandling the expert martial artist, Cole threw him directly into his colleague, both men crashing to the concrete.

Knowing he would have just moments before the men were back on top of him, Cole turned to the restaurant and ran.

 

Park could hear something happening outside, but knew his men could take care of it. All four of them were not only experts in unarmed combat, but were also crack shots and superb knife fighters. Whatever problem they were having wouldn’t be a problem for long.

Wong Xiang had seen Park by this time, looking up from his menu to see the two North Korean agents stalking towards him, staff members already backing away to one side, fearful of what was happening.

Wong took in the sight of the pistols in the men’s hands and immediately went for his own.

Park fired once, a shot which took the man in the pink t-shirt right between the eyes.

Between the sound of the shot and the time when the man’s body finally toppled backwards to the floor, the whole restaurant erupted into chaos; the staff were running for the kitchen, customers were either rooted to the spot in fear or else throwing themselves to the floor or backing away to the front door.

‘Stop!’
Park called out in broken English. ‘Everybody down on the floor!’ he ordered. ‘Now!’

His gun never left Wong’s head, and Chae rushed forward to disarm the man, pocketing his expensive SIG-Sauer 10mm. Chae’s own gun now at the man’s head, he forced the broker to stand.

‘Whatever you’re being paid,’ Wong said evenly, ‘I’ll be able to beat it. Trust me.’

Park smiled; not a friendly gesture, it was the smile of a predator about to consume its prey. ‘Not everyone is motivated by money, Mr. Wong.’

‘Come on,’ Wong persisted, ‘everyone wants something. What do –’

Park saw then that Wong was just playing for time; first he saw the man’s eyes flicker behind him, then he saw Chae turn to look in the same direction, gun immediately leaving Wong’s head and aiming over Park’s own shoulder.

Park’s head turned just in time to see a Caucasian man running towards him at high-speed.

 

Cole’s tackle took Park right off his feet, and Cole kept the man going backwards until he crashed Park’s body into Chae’s, knocking both men to the floor.

As soon as the men hit the ground,
Cole grabbed hold of Wong’s forearm and pulled him towards the rear of the restaurant, his cupped open hand slapping Chae’s rising head over the ear as they went.

But then a
hand reached out and gripped Cole’s leg, tripping him. Cole went down, but as he fell, he managed to grab a fork from the next table. As soon as he hit the floor, he was already sitting back up, and jammed the fork deep into the hand which was holding his leg.

He felt, rather than saw, a fist hurtling towards him from the side, and managed to get back to his feet to avoid the blow, picking up a chair in the same movement and turning, letting the chair come crashing down over Chae’s head.

He pirouetted and kicked Park across the jaw just as he was standing, but the man’s resilience was astounding; he staggered backwards but took the blow and immediately responded by kicking the edge of the nearest table, driving it across the tiled floor until the opposite end struck Cole hard in the gut, doubling him over.

Park followed up with a hard roundhouse kick which whistled over the table top, but Cole rode backwards out of the way, intercepting the kick with his hand and jamming the leg down onto the
tabletop. At the same time Cole’s hand snaked out to the next table, picked up a meat skewer from a customer’s plate, and jammed it down through Park’s extended leg.

The two men from outside were racing into the restaurant now, guns out, and Cole dived to one side as they opened fire, scrabbling with Wong across the littered floor to the double swing doors of the kitchens.

‘Who are you?’ Wong demanded as Cole ushered him through the cramped, steaming kitchen, staff members cowering on the floor; all except for one of the chefs, who launched himself towards Cole and Wong, a meat cleaver in his hands.

Cole sidestepped the attack and knocked the chef out with a clean punch to the point of the chin.

Hearing noise from behind, Cole stooped to pick up the cleaver and rotated, hurling it towards the doorway.

Cole was pleased to see the cleaver hit its mark, sharpened edge hitting the first man from outside right in the chest. The agent dropped to his knees, the life instantly draining from his eyes.

Cole pushed Wong towards the rear service doors – he wanted to question the arms broker, but he would have to be alive if Cole was ever going to be able to do that – just as the second agent from outside clambered over the body of his dead colleague, Browning up and aimed.

Cole sprang forward, one hand grabbing the man’s gun arm while the other struck out towards his throat with the web of skin between thumb and forefinger. The agent pulled his chin down in response to the blow, but Cole used t
he distraction to grab his jacket lapel, dropping suddenly backwards, foot to the agent’s stomach, throwing him straight overhead in a flying somersault.

The man landed squarely on the hot plates, the scalding heat burning the man’s s
kin instantly, and he screamed as his body recoiled off the grill unit; but his body fell again, and the man had to sacrifice his arm, protecting his body as he rolled off, writhing in agony on the kitchen floor next to the unconscious chef.

Cole saw Wong reach the rear doors, and grabbed a handful of plates as the swing doors to the kitchen moved again, Park and Chae rushing inside, Park visibly limping from the skewer in his thigh.

Before they could shoot, Cole started hurling plates towards them one after the other in rapid succession, smashing into the walls, the doors, and the two agents themselves.

The men were forced to raise their arms instinctively to protect themselves, and in his brief moment of opportunity, Cole turned and raced for the
fire exit, out in the open air and slamming the heavy door closed to the sounds of dozens of 9mm rounds which peppered the other side of the steel exit right behind him.

4

Cole saw Wong fleeing down the alleyway ahead of him and sprinted after the arms broker, catching up with him at the end of the block.

‘Xiang!’
Cole said, taking hold of his arm. ‘Where are you going? Those men are going to
kill
you, do you understand? I’m here to protect you!’ Cole hoped he could build trust with the man, capitalize on the situation so that he would be more likely to get information out of him later.
If
they survived.

Wong looked at Cole suspiciously. ‘
But who the hell
are
you?’ he asked in confusion, events having erupted so fast he still hadn’t had time to mentally sort himself out.

Just then, the steel door crashed open at the other end of the alleyway, and Cole pulled Wong into the street with him. ‘Later!’ he said as they raced together out into the light traffic of Cikini 1.

Cole waved his hand for a taxi, and no sooner had he done so than a bright orange three-wheeled Bajaj – Indonesia’s version of the auto rickshaw – pulled up next to them, the driver smiling with a mouthful of golden teeth. ‘Where to?’ he asked in English, in deference to Cole’s appearance.

‘Anywhere!’
Cole said, jumping into the back with Wong as he eyed the Korean agents hightailing it down the alleyway after them. ‘Just move!’

‘No problem!’ the driver said jovially. ‘I –‘

The next words caught in his throat as a 9mm bullet entered the side of his head, skull and brains showering the windscreen.

‘Get down!’ Cole ordered Wong, who was already curling
himself into the Bajaj’s cramped foot well. Stepping over the driver, Cole slammed his foot down hard on the gas pedal and pulled the wheel around sharply, making the three-wheeler perform a tight U-turn in the middle of the road, the little vehicle teetering violently to one side as it did so, threatening to turn over completely.

But it regained its traction and Cole leaned
over the dead body in the driver’s seat, saw the men approaching, and accelerated off into the oncoming traffic.

 

Park looked on in disgust as the American escaped with their target.

Who the hell was he? The throbbing in Park’s leg told him that whoever he was, the man was good.
Park had removed the skewer, and luckily it hadn’t done any real damage; it had passed through the meat of his leg, and the wound was now merely uncomfortable. But it would be nice to kill the man who had done it.

But w
hat were they going to do now? The target was getting away and the Third Bureau didn’t tolerate failure.

I
ndecision, however, was a foreign concept to Park, and he immediately turned towards the street and aimed his gun at a passing car, forcing it to a halt.

Park was pleased to see Chae responding immediately, opening the door and reaching inside to pull the driver out onto the street, slipping in behind the wheel and gunning the engine. Park made for the passenger door, and saw that Song Soo-chul, the man who’d been stationed at the front of Vietopia with his now dead colleague, was about to climb in the back.

‘No!’ said Park, noticing a passing motorbike. He fired a single shot from his Browning which hit the rider in the chest, knocking him from the bike, and pointed towards the fast two-wheeler which skittered on its side to a stop in front of them. ‘Follow him on that!’

And just seconds later, they were on their way, following Wong and his American guardian angel into the oncoming traffic
, ignoring the chaos they were leaving behind.

 

Cole saw in the Bajaj’s small wing mirrors that he was now being pursued by a car and a bike. Each had advantages and drawbacks; the car would provide a stable platform for shooting but was less maneuverable in traffic, while the bike would be more likely to catch up to them but would be difficult to shoot from. Combined, however, the agents had both firepower and maneuverability. Cole knew that the bike would try and cut them off, and the car would approach to perform the executions.

Watching the two vehicles in his mirrors as he weaved the dented
Bajaj in and out of the oncoming traffic, Cole opened a door and – waiting until the time was right – kicked the driver’s dead body out into the street, wrenching the sagging door closed behind it.

 

Song saw the body hit the ground and roll towards him and instantly veered left, cutting across an approaching sedan and straight back in, avoiding hitting the dead man. He knew what the American’s plan had been – make the bike hit the corpse, which would have sent Song flying off.

But it hadn’t worked, and Song accelerated again towards the orange three-wheeled rickshaw.

Behind Song, Chae leaned on the horn to clear the traffic ahead of them, Park hanging his body out of the side window, handgun aimed down the street on the off-chance he could squeeze a few shots off at the Bajaj. He saw Song skillfully avoid the driver’s body, and smiled as Chae took the direct route and ran straight over it, the car rocked by a heavy thumping as it passed underneath the wheels but kept on course.

Chae was playing a game of chick
en with the oncoming traffic, and he was winning; other drivers veered out of their way, crashing into cars and nearby storefronts, and Park considered that perhaps it was partially down to the gun he was pointing towards them.

He pulled himself back into the car as he saw the
Bajaj, and then the motorbike, take a right turn at the end of Cikini 1, merging with traffic going north on Jalan RP Suroso.

‘They’re turning right,’ he told Chae, who merely nodded in acknowledgment, his own mind locked onto the targets ahead of them.

 

Cole fought to control the
Bajaj as he ducked in and out of the steady thrum of traffic headed north, the little engine struggling to cope with the demands he was placing on it.

Behind him, he could see the car struggling to keep up, but the bike was moving ever closer, able to weave through the other vehicles even more easily than the three-wheeled
Bajaj.

He jerked the wheel left at the last second, careening on two wheels onto Gondangdia 2, a narrow road leading west. Cole pushed his foot down harder and took off at speed past the Menteng Regency apartment
building, a group of tourists stopping to stare at the crazy Bajaj driver, mouths agape.

Cole could see that his maneuver had paid off; the bike hadn’t been left enough time to turn, and had gone sailing right past. But Cole knew it wouldn’t take the rider long to correct the error; he would either turn around quickly, or else carry on
to the next parallel road and then cut across to intercept them further up.

And Cole knew that the car would certainly have enough time to respond, and would soon be after them.

With Wong Xiang still cowering on the floor in the back of the Bajaj, Cole whipped down the street and took a right turn at the end onto Gondangdia 3, which ran parallel to a set of train tracks.

Cole knew from his earlier research that the tracks led to Gondangdia Station, and an idea began to formulate in his mind.

Cole heard the supersonic crack of a 9mm round followed an instant later by the sound of a ricochet, and saw in his wing mirrors the agent he stabbed through the leg, gun in hand. He was leaning out of the car, which was accelerating fast towards him.

More shots followed, and Cole kept his head down as the bullet
s ricocheted off the metal skin of the Bajaj. And then he heard the screaming of an engine at high revs and looked right to see the motorcycle racing towards him down another side-street, gun in the rider’s hand. He saw a flash from the barrel, and buried his head under the wheel, the bullets tearing through the Bajaj’s canvas upper.

Cole immediately punched the accelerator
down even further and turned left at the end of the road onto Cut Meutia, the motorcycle right next to him now, the rider pointing his handgun through the open window.

Cole wrenched the wheel across and knocked the bike off to the side, keeping the momentum going and coming off the road; suspension shaking, he mounted a grassed central reservation, ploughed through a barrier and crossed over onto Jalan GSSY Samratulangi, heading north.

The bike was out of action for the time being, but the car followed him, bullets flying out across the highway as he gunned the tiny engine and headed for the train station which was now just ahead.

Time to see if his plan would work.

BOOK: WHATEVER THE COST: A Mark Cole Thriller
12.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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