The Stefan Mendoza Trilogy Boxed Set, page 75
part #1 of Stefan Mendoza Trilogy Series
“How high is extremely high?”
Du-ri frowned. “Very. One day, perhaps into space. The fuel cost is too great at the moment.”
I leaned back. And looked at the panel above us. The slots for dropdown air masks were larger than normal. Maybe it was to cover the whole face. I wasn’t sure that would matter if the temperatures were freezing, and they sure had been for the high altitude of my HALO jumps. If you didn’t have the right protection, you weren’t awake for the low open part of the jump.
After a few minutes, the orbital taxied, then it felt like it blasted off. It was how I imagined being in a rocket must feel: pressed into the seat, gasping from the g-force.
It seemed forever before we leveled off. It was gradual, but I could feel it. Ichi made chewing motions to pop her ears.
Pitsamai powered her computing device down and glanced at the back of Du-ri’s seat, then smiled at me and blushed. “I can tell when he is sleeping.”
“I appreciate you helping us out on this. I don’t like taking on new teammates at the last minute.”
She covered her face with a hand. “You don’t blame me?”
“For Bogotá? Why would I? The Agency miscalculated as bad as we did. At least some of us got out.”
“But I couldn’t take down their systems.”
“You…” My hands flinched. “No one told us their systems were still up.”
“Not fully.” She glanced at Du-ri again. “We needed the technology.”
“And he was afraid I’d pull the team out?”
“Would you have?”
I looked at Ichi, who seemed to be doing her best to doze off. “No.”
“He couldn’t take the chance.”
“Yeah. That’s the way his type are.” No different from Stovall. “So what was up with their systems?”
Pitsamai squinted her eyes. “I can’t be sure. It wasn’t just one thing. Maybe I could have broken it with more time. I—I’m not as good as your friend Chan, I guess.”
“Chan’s a unique kid. The guy who acted as a…mentor was also one of the most disturbed people you could ever know.”
She closed her eyes. “I learned most of what I know from the Chinese. They recruited me out of Clemson.”
“Clemson? United States? South Carolina Clemson?”
“Yeah. Go Tigers!”
“I thought LoDu recruited out of Asia?”
“I’m from a town outside Bangkok, right on the Bay of Thailand, but my great aunt married an American, so I spent a lot of time there. It was…different. You know American men and Asian women.”
“I guess I don’t.”
She sneered. “Seriously? The whole get yourself a submissive wife thing?”
I wanted to laugh. The memories of my torture—the woman with the razor fingers, Pitsamai’s razor mouth—had made the concept of a submissive Asian woman too painful. “Were you trying to act submissive in Bogotá?”
She blushed. “I was trying to hurt Du-ri.”
“Fair enough. But that was aggressive, not submissive. I knew a lot of old retirees from my Army and Agency days. You ever hear of a tiger wife? The domineering Asian wife who pushes the henpecked husband around? Saw a lot of that.”
She shrugged and looked away. “Well, it’s a thing. Plenty of guys hit on me.”
“You’re a pretty lady, Pitsamai. That’s going to happen. It has nothing to do with being Asian.”
That triggered a wry smile. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Sure.” I could feel irritation building, but the notion was irritating. Norimitsu didn’t marry Tae-hee because she was submissive. He said they fought all the time, but he loved her anyway, despite the struggle. “So, how does that work? If an Asian man marries an Asian woman, is he looking for submissive?”
“Some.”
“And it’s different how?”
She shrugged.
“All right, how’s it different from saying women are always searching for a good-looking man with a lot of money and a roguish streak?” I turned to Du-ri.
She bit her lip and looked away. “It’s just something people say, I guess.”
“Sorry. I don’t usually like to argue, especially about that sort of thing. I’m just tired. ”
“I understand.” She fiddled with her device, as if she wanted to lose herself in its depths once again.
“Look, let’s put that Asian woman thing aside, okay? Tell me about the Chinese. Did you work for their intelligence people? The MSS?”
“Yes. They wanted me on drugs. To control me. And they made me feel ugly, even when they tried to force sex on me. And on top of all that, they wouldn’t let me develop my skills.”
“They’ve got a bad track record. Brainwashing only goes so far once people are exposed to the real world.”
She smiled. “On the Grid? So many choose to live a lie there, don’t they?”
Chan’s different life in the VR world, Ichi’s kinky VR armored warrior costume, the people buying murder fantasies, the masses taking in nothing but fabricated, corporate-sponsored news…they were just a small part of the twisted world. “I guess for some people, it’s easier to run away from reality than to fix it.”
“I’ll do better this time. I’ve been studying some of the things I ran into. I’ll be ready.”
I leaned my seat back. “Let’s hope we all do.”
I woke to an insistent chime that quickly turned into a warning tone. The cabin had turned cold, cold enough that my breath steamed. Ichi was shaking me and pushing a mask onto my face. Pitsamai got out of her seat—wobbly and shaking—and helped Du-ri into his mask. She took the seat to his right just before the aircraft began shaking violently.
Panic ate at me. Dying in an airplane crash was one of the worst ways I could think of going. You were powerless, and although the impact probably killed you instantly, it was a long time coming.
My seat came up, and the plane began its descent.
Steep. Fast. The shaking worsened.
Ichi’s hand closed over mine. I increased the sensitivity of my skin to get a sense of what she felt like: cold, calloused, some fingers still bandaged. And strong. Years working on the gymnastics equipment had given her amazing power and agility.
I squeezed back.
After a few minutes, I decided we weren’t going to tear apart like I’d originally thought. We were just going to plunge straight into the ground somewhere. Or maybe the ocean. There weren’t any windows to see where we were.
Then just like that, the shaking lessened. Our angle of descent or our speed or both changed. It felt like we went into a slow banking maneuver, then slowed more.
Until we hit something and were thrown against our belts hard. Something boomed below us, like an explosion.
We were taxiing. Braking.
The cabin filled with the smell of smoke, and a few seconds later, I could see it, like a pale fog.
We came to a stop, and Du-ri launched from his seat, dragging Pitsamai toward the hatch. “Hurry. There is a fire.”
The airfield we had landed at seemed like positively ancient. It was surrounded by fields and small houses. Fire trucks sped toward us, red lights like pulsing flares in what could have been the gray of oncoming dusk or fading dawn. I was too frazzled to recall when we’d left and what our travel would do to the time. We hung by the door, listening to the sirens, breathing in the cool air—not so much clean as fresh, although it carried the unmistakable pungency of manure. The pilots watched us from the cockpit, still in their masks, impossibly calm.
A truck with a ramp raced after the closing fire trucks, which would have been comical if we weren’t facing a possible fiery death because of the delay.
Of course, I wouldn’t let anyone die, not if it came down to it, but I didn’t need the attention a series of rescuing jumps would bring.
The fire trucks came around, deafening and brilliant, and the brave firefighters hopped out. We clambered down the ramp under the protection of two foam hoses that were ready to blast everything, but it looked like the fire had been suppressed by the plane’s systems .
It was light out by the time our limo was cleared to pick us up. Once again, we buckled in and sped toward our destination.
I studied the countryside. “Where are we?”
Du-ri clenched his jaw. “Someplace known as Omaha.”
We’d found something as remote as Emmet, but without any of the charm. “Intentional?”
“Necessary. The convoy will be using this airport.”
“Your team is here already?”
“All but one. He has been delayed in Saskatchewan. He was a redundancy, a safety measure.”
The limo rolled past more fields, some dotted with cattle, others not yet ready for spring planting. The sun seemed bright for the time of year, but there was a dull haze to the air, and snow on the ground. We turned off the highway and accelerated down a dirt road toward a barn. The fields here were neglected and overgrown. A man and a woman in black outfits opened a gate as we approached, and the limo slowed but didn’t stop until we were well inside the barn.
Two more people in black outfits were inside, both men. Like the couple hurrying back from the gate, these two looked Korean—spiked black hair, pale skin, slender. They were in their twenties, athletic, annoyingly hip.
There were three cars parked inside the barn, noses pointed out. Black metallic paint, chrome wheels, highly polished. They had the refined lines of Euro luxury sports cars, but with subtle differences. Korean or Chinese vehicles, from the look of it.
As I got out of the limo, I caught a glimpse of an older woman in a limo driver uniform behind the wheel. She watched me over the top of reflective sunglasses as Du-ri chatted with her. She opened the trunk and pulled a long case out while we walked toward the other vehicles.
Du-ri waved the others in. They gathered around, arms crossed, mouths pursed, cooly glaring at me and Ichi.
Du-ri growled something in Korean, which seemed to get their attention. “We have very little time. This is my team—Stefan Mendoza, Pitsamai Sornsai. Ichi Tanaka will be an observer. ”
The youngest looking guy tugged on black leather gloves. A driver. “We expect survivors?”
Du-ri’s eyes drifted toward me. “Killing should be minimized.” He pointed at the young man. “Jung-koo Kim, a very good driver.” The other young man who had been waiting inside was next. “Won-jong Hong. Combat expert.”
Won-jong bowed his head slightly. He was the beefiest of the bunch.
Du-ri pointed to the woman, whose hair was only slightly longer than the men’s. She was taller than Jung-koo. “This is Ga-in Park. A very experienced driver. We were lucky to have her join us.”
Jung-koo’s smirk said he disagreed.
Du-ri indicated the last man, who had the short hair and seemed the oldest of the bunch. “And this is Do-sam Kim, also a combat expert.”
Do-sam cocked his head at me—challenging.
The attitude coming off of them was a bit much. I couldn’t tell if they were going through some pecking order nonsense, or if they’d heard about Bogotá and were blaming it on me. The way Du-ri was setting things up, it didn’t seem to matter—I was being sidelined from the main action.
Du-ri checked his data device. “We have twenty minutes to get to our destination. Ga-in, you will have the lead vehicle responsibility. Do-sam will ride with you. Jung-koo, you will have second vehicle. Won-jong will ride with you. We will provide backup. Mi-hee will run the drones and keep the limo available for emergency extraction.”
I held up a hand. “What’s the SunCorps convoy look like?”
The spike-haired kids looked at each other and seemed ready to laugh.
Du-ri ignored them. “Armored SUVs. Five of them. On the stretch of road where we will ambush them, they will be forced into single file. We will use explosive devices to destroy their tires and concuss the passengers.”
“Explosives?”
“This is an effective method. Fatalities are extremely rare.”
“Extremely rare isn’t the same as never. ”
“Nothing is ever guaranteed.” Du-ri gave me the sort of look that told me my input wasn’t welcome.
I let it go.
“Eighteen minutes.” Du-ri pointed to the closest car.
I climbed into the back with Ichi, feeling like a fifth wheel. Ga-in’s vehicle raced out of the barn, leaving a trail of dust behind her. Jung-koo’s vehicle was close behind. Du-ri pulled a pistol out of the glove compartment and set it on the floor beneath his seat. He kept the car slow until we were past Mi-hee. The limo driver was almost done assembling the second of a pair of drones similar to the one we’d used in Bogotá.
Ichi struggled to hide her irritation as we flew down the highway. She repeatedly ran fingers through her hair and occasionally watched the fields whipping by. Her eyes sometimes dwelled on Pitsamai but mostly she glared at the back of Du-ri’s head.
I tapped Ichi on the shoulder and whispered, “We’ll talk.”
She nodded and seemed to relax. We were both outsiders, and she knew it.
The lead car pulled down a side road and stopped, then the second. We parked next to them. The trunks popped open all at once, and the others darted around, gathering up lengthy rolls of wax paper. They laid the paper out on the road, then unrolled it, revealing transparent strips that looked like long bars of clear gelatin.
Explosives. They would probably look like water in the road to a speeding vehicle.
Pitsamai had her computing device on her lap. After a minute, she opened her door and shouted in Korean.
The others returned to their cars, took assault carbines from the trunks, then slammed them shut. They continued down the side road. What looked like an abandoned grain silo provided some cover. The cars turned back around, noses pointed back to the two-lane highway.
Du-ri came to a stop and glanced at his data device. “They will be here in five minutes.”
Pitsamai held up her computing device display. The drone video feed showed vehicles moving fast from the north. “No one uses this road much in the winter. That’s why SunCorps is taking this route.”
An SUV came into view on the opposite end of the display from the convoy, heading toward it.
I tapped the SUV. “What’s that?”
Pitsamai took the device back. “I’m not sure. Law enforcement?”
Du-ri leaned closer to the device. “Sheriff or something.” He turned back to me. “What do they have here?”
I shrugged. “It’s impossible to know. US law enforcement is a big jumble of chaos. Out here, probably a sheriff. Are these vehicles clean?”
“Yes. They will be disposed of when we are done.” He studied the image a bit more. “It is coming this way. Maybe someone reported us.”
“Sports cars speeding down an empty road? Maybe.”
Du-ri pulled out a radio. “A police vehicle approaches. Stay calm. Weapons out of sight. If someone approaches, I will speak to them.”
The other cars answered with “gwaenchanh-a .”
The SUV came to a stop at the end of the cracked gravel road that led up to the silo. There were a couple people visible behind the windows: jackets, caps, and sunglasses. Just watching. The driver had a microphone in his hand.
Just local yahoos. Get out of here.
They kept staring at the cars, and my guts twisted. We were running out of time, and I had no doubt Du-ri would have the men killed if they risked the mission.
The driver got out and adjusted his cap, then hitched his belt. Deputy. A big guy, pale and long-limbed, with diamond blue eyes.
Du-ri grabbed the gun from under his seat, leaned forward to stuff the weapon into his waistband at his back, then opened his door and got out, hands up. “Good morning, Officer.”
Something felt wrong.
The other guy got out of the SUV but moved out of sight.
I tapped Pitsamai on the shoulder. “What kind of feed do we have on that drone? IR?”
She twisted around, torn between watching Du-ri and the display and answering me. “Infrared? Y-yes. Why?”
“Can you have Mi-hee take it up higher and get us an IR view?”
She tapped the computing device and said, “Mi-hee, take the drone up one hundred feet and switch to infrared, please.”
Du-ri was chatting casually with Diamond Blue, giving a line about representing a Chinese billionaire who was looking to buy a ranch in the area. It seemed to have Diamond Blue listening but not leaving. We were a couple minutes out from detonating explosives. They had to go, but…
Pitsamai gasped and held up the data device. “Look!”
Two heat signatures were visible below and about three hundred feet on either side of Mi-hee’s drone: Someone else had drones in the area.
I popped my door and jumped out, screaming, “Trap!” I charged forward, hands spread in front of me.
The other deputy came around the back of the SUV. He raised a rocket launcher.
And fired.
Ga-in’s car lifted off the ground atop a ball of fire. The nearby silo was ripped open and spilling dried corn.
Du-ri was already pulling his pistol.
Diamond Blue was faster. His first shot spun Du-ri around.
His second caught me in the hand, which rocked back.
I twisted around slightly.
Jung-koo and Won-jong opened their doors, assault carbines in hand.
The second grenade hit their vehicle, tossing them out. They rolled from the car. Burning. Flopping.
Dead.
Like I would be. Diamond Blue had me in his sights.
A shot roared.
Blood spurted from just below Diamond Blue’s left eye.
I kept running, scooping up Jung-koo’s assault carbine.
The guy with the rocket launcher pointed it toward the final vehicle, where Ichi and Pitsamai were.
I put a burst into the guy, center mass.
Just as he fired another grenade.
Chapter 13
I caught the explosion in my peripheral vision—a flash, the concussive wave of dust and smoke, the sound of crumpling metal and shattering glass, the blare of the car alarm that continued on once the heated roar of the shockwave passed.
