Watching the man stop fifty yards away, Turner saw him stoop down for the phone hidden among the brush.
The call lasted exactly two minutes. Then the man started to put the phone away.
“Now,” Turner whispered. He slid his gun out of its holster and started to rise up from the brush. Knowing that the rest of Captain Eyler’s Air Force OSI agents would close in from the backside and cut off the man’s vehicle, Turner knew there was no escape. He crept forward through the brush with his night vision goggles down.
A few steps more.
Stop.
“Federal agents,” Turner yelled.
The man turned, drawing a gun. Three shots. Three flashes.
Turner crouched and returned fire. Three shots.
Silence.
Then came a voice over the mic. “Turner, you there?”
“Yeah, Dave. I think he’s down. Hold your position. Car secure?”
“Yes, Sir,” came another voice.
Turner moved forward, his gun leading the way. His breathing became louder, his chest heaving with each step.
“Damn it. He’s down. Call an ambulance.”
Rushing toward the man on the ground, Turner could see the blood on the man’s chest. Next to him now, he kicked the gun away from the guy’s hand and then holstered his own and kneeled on the ground next to him.
He had a pulse.
“He gonna live?” It was Captain Eyler, who had moved in, the parabolic microphone still in his hand.
“Don’t know. But keep that pointed at his mouth in case he says something.”
“Gotcha.”
Turner put his hand under the man’s head and then slapped him across the face. “Wake up, you bastard.”
The man lurched up, his eyes open.
He babbled a few words in Russian; questioning the profession of Turner’s mother. Turner pretended like he didn’t understand. The man pleaded for help and then mentioned money and his contact. Come on, Turner thought, you’re almost there. Then he brought up something and someone Turner was completely aware of, but the connection was not clear. The man was fading fast, though.
“What about Khabarovsk?” Turner yelled.
The man’s eyes opened wider. “Speak Russian?”
Turner said nothing.
Closing his eyes, the man went limp. Turner set the man’s head onto the grass.
Seconds later, agents moved in with lights, followed closely by two men with a gurney. The paramedics checked him over and started CPR, but Turner knew that would not work. One of his bullets had ripped through a lower lobe of the lung, and a second shot had given him a new belly button.
Moving to the satellite phone, Turner pulled it out from under the brush. If his hunch was correct, and he knew that it was, then the phone call could be traced.
“What was he saying?” Eyler said.
Turner looked up at the OSI captain. “I need to hear that tape of his conversation. Was it all in Russian.”
“Afraid so.”
Shit. Then he should have been on the parabolic. “Let’s roll it back and hear it.”
The captain did as he was told. In thirty seconds, Turner had the tape recorder on play and listened carefully through his headphones. When it was done, he rewound and listened again. Only when he was certain what had been said, he stopped and thought for a moment.
“What’s it mean?” Eyler asked.
“It means I’m heading back to Russia.”
“The only two words I understood were Jake Adams,” Eyler said. “You know him?”
“Yeah. We’ve met. Forget you heard that, though. Come on. We’ve got a call to trace and then I’m off to Russia.”
43
The sleek, black B-2 Spirit landed at Osan Air Base at seven in the morning, taxied to an isolated hanger, shut down, and then was pulled inside and closed up tight.
Jake waited as the aircrew opened the canopy and was helped down to the cement. The two in full flight suits were followed by a third man who wore a flight suit, but without the G-suit and other gadgets. All three looked like they were dragging from the long flight.
Standing to Jake’s right was Lt. Col. Stan Bailey, a serious look on his face. Bailey stopped the aircrew and started talking with them, while Jake came over to the third man.
“You must be Drew Fisher,” Jake said, extending his hand to the man.
They shook briefly and the guy said, “Yeah. Jake Adams?”
Jake nodded and the two of them started walking toward a side door.
“I got a short briefing on you en route,” Fisher said. He stopped and pointed his finger at Jake’s chest. “I don’t give a shit who you think you are, but this is my case. I’ve been following this woman for days. I was undercover for months.”
Smiling, Jake said, “I’ll let your finger survive this time, since you might need it soon. Now, you tell yourself anything your little ego needs to hear. I don’t give a shit. I was hired to do a job. You do it with me or not. That’s your choice. In the end, when you’re layin’ on your back with blood oozing from your chest, it doesn’t mean shit who’s in charge. You’re still just as dead.”
Fisher laughed and started walking. “They said you were a tenacious bastard. Finally, a truthful briefing.”
Jake caught up with the agent, his hand catching the guy’s arm and pulling him to a halt. “Listen, I’m afraid I have you at a disadvantage. I got a full briefing on you while you were in the air.”
Fisher looked disturbed by that revelation.
“That’s right Mr. Internal Operations man,” Jake said. “You’ve never operated in a foreign country. Maybe that’s why they let you come here. You aren’t a known commodity. But let me tell you something. I’ve been working on foreign soil since your face was still in acne back in Kentucky. I’d call you a Southern Redneck, but that’s both redundant and probably, in your mind, a compliment.”
Suddenly, Stan Bailey approached, a hand on each of their shoulders. “You boys done comparing dick size? I understand you gotta get to Seoul.”
The colonel escorted the two of them to a car used by the Osan OSI for undercover work that was waiting outside. Bailey drove them to the operations building, where Fisher showered and then changed into a set of civilian clothes that were exactly his size. Then they got back in the car; Bailey driving, Jake in the front passenger seat, and Fisher alone in the back. Moments later they passed through the front gate, got onto the expressway, and headed north toward Seoul.
“What the hell you expect me to do without my gun,” Fisher said. He had brought his gun on the flight, but it was taken from him while he showered.
Jake turned toward the back. “You shouldn’t need it. We’re only here to follow the woman to her source.”
“You don’t understand. This woman is a cold-blooded killer. I think she cums every time she pulls the trigger.”
Jake smiled. “Really? We might get along, then. The photos we were sent were not very good. You’ll have to point out this woman for me. And when I say point, I don’t mean that in the literal sense.”
“You fuckin’ putz. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I might be the guy who’s gonna keep you alive in the next few days,” Jake said, turning his attention to Bailey. “How much longer?”
“Thirty minutes,” Bailey said. Then he looked into the rearview mirror at Fisher. “There will be an Agency crew from Seoul as back up. They’ll see you, but you won’t recognize them. They’ll look like every other passenger.”
When they got to the airport outside Seoul, Bailey simply drove up to the arrivals area and dropped the two of them off.
“You boys need anything, Jake has my cell phone number,” Bailey said before pulling away.
Jake had been given a new cell phone; a tiny model that fit in the palm of his hand. He had made a few local calls to make sure it worked.