He rushed back to the railing and hurled one more time.

  65 |

  Yellow Sea, International Waters

  Choe stared out from the chopper at the scene below. A US sub was sitting in what he was told were international waters, and three patrol boats now surrounded her. No shots had been fired yet, but the briefing he had received in the air told him something was wrong. Kane had played them from the beginning. He still wasn’t sure what was happening, but Major Pak indicated he had been taken down expertly by Burkett, which suggested Burkett wasn’t a scientist at all, but another CIA operative.

  The most disturbing part was that Kwan appeared to be working with them. How that was even possible, he had no idea. His briefing told him she was an intelligence asset trained for companionship who had never been out of the country. How Kane could have recruited her and then how Command could have selected her simply made no sense. This suggested to him the possibility she was pretending to go along, or she was exploiting the opportunity to defect herself.

  The chaos at the nuclear plant had been caused by outside forces, which meant a special forces team had been sent in to rescue Kane rather than kill him. It indicated a well-coordinated op, and there was no way an operation planned so perfectly would have an exfil done by a submarine lit up with fireworks like it was a party.

  “This is a decoy,” he said, turning to the captain. “There’s no way this is the rendezvous point.” He leaned forward and pointed ahead. “Head north along the coastline.”

  “Yes, major.” The chopper dipped forward and they left the distraction behind. Every asset in the area was converging on that sub. Unfortunately, the diversion had likely worked. By his calculations, the Americans would have already reached the shore and met whatever vessel they were to rendezvous with in secrecy. The pilot banked slightly to the right as he followed the coastline, and a patrol vessel came into sight.

  “See if you can raise them on the radio.”

  “Yes, sir.” The pilot put out the call and it was immediately responded to.

  “Ask him if he’s spotted anything unusual in the past fifteen minutes.” The question was relayed and the pilot shook his head at the response.

  “Nothing, sir, just a Chinese fishing trawler with a broken fuel line that they helped get underway.”

  Choe cursed. “That’s it! Find out where they headed and tell them to intercept.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Choe turned to the captain. “I bet a month’s rations that they’re on that trawler. We might just get them yet.”

  66 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  High fives and hugs were exchanged around the room as the satellite image showed the patrol boat leaving Chan’s vessel, then Chan heading for international waters. There was still no sign of Delta or Kane’s foursome since they had disappeared under the water, but they had pinged the locator beacons for Bravo Team, and they showed they were clustered on the boat somehow. Where they were hidden or how they had gotten aboard, he had no clue, because the North Koreans appeared to have performed a thorough search.

  “Could they still be underwater?” asked Child. “I mean, there’s no way you hide ten people on a boat that size. It’s not like he can put them in a hidden closet. You’d have to put them in a hidden ballroom.”

  “Chan wouldn’t say what the plan was when Fang spoke to him. I don’t think he entirely trusted her or that their communications weren’t being monitored. How long before they’re in international waters?”

  Tong brought the estimate up on the main display. “At least forty minutes. That thing’s not exactly a race boat. The North Koreans have to figure out that it’s just a diversion soon. I don’t think we have forty minutes.”

  Child cursed. “Neither do I.” He pointed at the displays. “Is it my imagination or did that patrol boat just turn around after that helicopter flew over?”

  Everyone stared and Leroux cursed. He reached for his comms before remembering that everything had been abandoned on shore. “ETA?”

  Tong sighed. “Less than fifteen minutes for the boat, five for the chopper. There’s no way they’re going to make it.”

  67 |

  Yellow Sea, North Korean Territorial Waters

  Kane clung to the bottom of the boat along with the others. So far, thankfully, none of the handholds had failed, but if this kept on much longer, one of them might be forced to let go out of fatigue, and his money was on Dr. Gorman, who appeared to be struggling. Kane signaled to Atlas, closest to the elderly man, and Atlas reached out with his free hand and grabbed the man by the belt, providing him with some support and some much-needed relief.

  Kane took the opportunity to switch hands, which had him rolling back toward Kwan. He couldn’t figure her out. She had had multiple opportunities to sabotage their escape, yet she hadn’t. But she knew the truth, that it had all been an act, that there was no real bond beyond what two people sharing what they had would naturally create.

  Yet she had helped them anyway. It had to be that she had recognized an opportunity for a better life and was taking it, and if that were the case, he couldn’t fault her. What ended up happening to her was above his pay grade. Washington and Langley would decide what would become of her. She could be granted asylum and live out her life in exile like Fang, or she could be a double agent, taking the opportunity to insert herself as instructed by Pyongyang.

  Definitely above his pay grade.

  Her eyes smiled at him and she reached out with her free hand, taking his and squeezing it. Then her eyes widened with fear as she let go. He gave her a questioning look and she pointed at her ear. He listened and his heart sank at the sound of a larger boat approaching, and any doubt as to its intention was eliminated the moment Chan cut his engine, revealing another more ominous sound.

  Helicopter rotors.

  I guess we’re not getting away with it after all.

  This time, Chan did piss his pants as the patrol boat once again pulled up beside him, this time accompanied by a chopper, its rotors pounding overhead. “Sir, is there a problem?” he asked the lieutenant, whose demeanor was far gruffer this time.

  “Where are they?”

  “Where are who?”

  “The Americans!”

  Chan stared at him, puzzled. “What Americans? I’m a fisherman. You searched the boat already. You know I’m alone.”

  The search team disappeared below decks, once again tearing the place apart.

  “I know you’re lying to me. Where have you hidden them?”

  Chan shrugged, his hands still raised high. “I don’t know what I can tell you. There are no Americans here. There’s nobody here. There’s just me.”

  “Then why were you going so fast?”

  Chan’s eyes bulged. “If you were a lowly fisherman and found yourself in foreign waters, wouldn’t you go as fast as you could to get back home?”

  The lieutenant regarded him for a moment, saying nothing, when the search team emerged from below, again empty-handed. The lieutenant stared up at the chopper above and shook his head. Chan was still within North Korean waters. Nobody could help them unless they were willing to break international law, and if they stayed here much longer, those hitching a ride below would run out of oxygen.

  An idea occurred to him. The Delta team had kept their locator beacons, against his wishes, but it presented an opportunity.

  “Sir, I realize something must be going on if you’re looking for Americans. Trust me, I hate them as much as you do. If you need to satisfy your superiors, take me into custody. Take my boat if you need to and tear it apart on shore so your superiors know you and your men missed nothing.”

  The lieutenant regarded him for a moment as he no doubt mulled the offer, yet even he had to know there was no way they missed ten people, which is when he realized there was no way the man could know how many were hiding. The most he would know about is four, and then perhaps surmise that others had helped. And with the way the North Koreans worked, they might not have revealed to the lower echelon how many were involved at all.

  The chopper overhead abruptly banked away, the lights that had been shining down on them dimming the area slightly. But more importantly, the absence of the thundering rotors allowed them to hear another sound, causing everyone to turn.

  Chan gulped, and if he had anything left in his bladder, it would have released. The lieutenant cursed and hopped back on his boat as his men followed in a panic, its engine gunning as it beat a hasty retreat from the massive American destroyer now approaching, fully lit, with all of its weapons aimed at the patrol boat. Chan waved at them as the ship’s engines kicked into reverse, rapidly killing its speed.

  I really wish I hadn’t pissed myself.

  68 |

  USS Higgins Yellow Sea

  Kane stepped into the rec room of the USS Higgins, an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, freshly showered and shaved, wearing a set of clothes provided by the US Navy. He’d already had a tearful video conference reunion with Fang that had gone far better than he expected, though she might kill him in his sleep tomorrow night when they reunited in person. Kwan was already under guard in secure quarters, and would be transferred to Busan as soon as they put into port, where she promised to reveal the location of Gorman’s family once her freedom was assured. He would likely never see her again. He had paid her a visit, apologizing, and she seemed to have accepted it.

  “Why did you help us?”

  “Because I wanted to see America. I wanted to see freedom.”

  It was as reasonable an explanation as any. She would have been trained to make people like him comfortable. It meant exposure to his culture and his beliefs, and perhaps that was enough for one to question one’s loyalties. He prayed that she was being honest with him, and that if she were, the powers that be would recognize it and give her the life everyone deserved, no matter what flag they were born under.

  He dropped onto a couch, one end occupied by Jack. A good chunk of Bravo Team was scattered about the room reserved for the ship’s guests. “So, I assume Jack here has brought you up to speed?”

  Dawson nodded. “Yeah. You guys are nuts.”

  “Pretty ballsy,” said Niner. “You realize I had the shot?”

  Kane regarded him. “But you didn’t take it.”

  “Only because Atlas didn’t have his, then when he did, he recognized Jack.”

  “Well, thank God for that.”

  Jack grinned. “I am good to have around sometimes. And this pretty face is hard to forget.”

  Atlas groaned. “Oh, God, all you CIA types are the same. You’re in love with yourselves.”

  Jack gave him a look. “Buddy, if you were as good-looking as us, you’d be in love with yourself too.”

  Kane fist-bumped him.

  Atlas flexed a massive bicep. “Call me when you’re as jacked as this.”

  Jack’s head bobbed. “Respect.”

  Kane sighed and closed his eyes as he stretched his arms out on the back of the couch. “I feel like we’ve forgotten something.”

  Spock cocked an eyebrow. “Did we lose count?”

  Niner made a show of a head count they all were making.

  Kane shook his head. “No, it’s something else.”

  “Person, place, or thing?” asked Niner.

  “Thing. Some thing we’ve forgotten.”

  Niner leaped to his feet, excitement on his face. “Ooh, I forgot the hole check.”

  Everybody groaned and Kane eyed him. “I don’t think I want to know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  Dawson shook his head. “Trust me, you don’t.”

  Jimmy batted a hand. “Just stop thinking about it and you’ll remember.” He pointed at the television screen playing on mute. “That can’t be a good combination.”

  “What’s that?” asked Kane.

  “A British sports car known for its bad electrical systems becoming an electric vehicle.”

  Kane chuckled.

  I guess we didn’t forget anything after all.

  THE END

  To be notified of new releases and get the free J. Robert Kennedy Starter Library of 5 full-length novels, click here now to be taken to my website, or visit www.jrobertkennedy.com and sign-up for The Insider’s Club now!

  DYLAN KANE WILL RETURN!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Who is #10?

  If you are a hockey fan, then you probably know who Guy Lafleur was. He was one of the greatest hockey players of all time, and from all accounts, an even greater guy off the ice. He played most of his career with the Montreal Canadiens. When I was a kid, they were my team, since the only choices were them or Toronto, and my dad was a Habs (Les Habitants) fan.

  Yes, all these names are for the same team. You figure it out, I can’t.

  I remember watching him fly down the ice, his long hair flowing, because back then most of them didn’t wear helmets. And surprise, surprise, they kept their sticks down a lot more than today. I never did get to see him play in person, which is too bad, but I’ll never forget watching him.

  Unfortunately, he passed while I was writing this book, and it affected me more than I would have expected. You know you’re getting old when your heroes start to die.

  The musicians, actors, writers, and sports heroes I grew up with have either already passed, or are getting to that age when many of them could be tomorrow’s headline. Every single author I read as a child is dead, though I read a lot of classic sci-fi, so most of them were gone already. Many of the musicians have either passed, given up touring (or should), or are on their final tours.

  I’ve been a KISS fan since I was seven years old. They’re on their final tour. I only saw them once when they reunited and put the makeup back on, and it was one of the greatest concerts of my life. I would love to see them one more time, but my health won’t allow it—the pain would ruin the experience, and I’d rather have that treasured memory from years ago to remember them by.

  When your heroes die, you can sometimes question your own mortality. Clint Eastwood, Harrison Ford, Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Wayne Gretzky. The list goes on, and they’re all much older than me.

  I’m not looking forward to the day I wake up to hear the next hero has died.

  On another note, where I live was hit by a derecho. Never heard of it? Neither had I. If you have, apply to get on Jeopardy. Do it now. You’ll win. For the rest of us, a derecho is essentially a sustained, widespread windstorm. People are dead, power is out for over 100,000 people, traffic lights are out, trees are down, and much more. I’ve been hit hard the last two storms we had in this area. The last microburst took my roof, and the last tornado took my fence. I’m happy to be safe with no damage and power that’s still on, though I was disappointed it didn’t take my deck—it’s due to be replaced.

  It did mean the birthday plans I made with my daughter had to be canceled. Have you ever eaten an entire cake by yourself? I recommend not doing it in one sitting!

  As usual, there are people to thank. My dad for all the research, Dave Brooklyn for some motorcycle info (ape hangers!), Brent Richards for some weapons info, Greg “Chief” Michael for some submarine info, and, as always, my wife, daughter, my late mother who will always be an angel on my shoulder as I write, as well as my friends for their continued support, and my fantastic proofreading team!

  To those who have not already done so, please visit my website at www.jrobertkennedy.com, then sign up for the Insider’s Club to be notified of new book releases. Your email address will never be shared or sold.

  Thank you once again for reading.

  DYLAN KANE WILL RETURN!

  NEED SOME HISTORICAL ACTION?

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  In an age before detectives, one Templar Knight is called upon to deliver justice.

  When wounded Templar Knight Sir Marcus de Rancourt receives word that his sister is dying, he returns to a home he hasn’t seen in twenty years, only to find his sister dead, and her children orphaned. Sir Marcus decides to take on the greatest challenge of his life and remain behind to raise the children, his loyal sergeant and squires insisting on joining him to work the land at his side.

  And it all starts with a simple murder, witnessed by a little boy, who swears Templars killed his parents.

  Now it is up to Sir Marcus and his men to determine who committed the gruesome murders, and clear the good name of the Templars, before the very balance of power in the region shifts in favor of someone who should never possess it.

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