But Park recovered more quickly than Cole thought possible and deflected Cole’s punch, hands securing tight around his wrist and throwing him across the rooftop in a perfect hapkido wrist throw.
Cole rolled across the roof and collided with Wong, the impact knocking the arms dealer back towards the edge of the roof.
‘Aniyo!’ Cole heard Park shout; Korean for No!, which confirmed his suspicions about the man. But Cole had no time to fully process this information, as both he and Park raced to the roof edge to save their only source of vital information.
Both men’s hands leapt out to grab hold of Wong — his arm, his leg, his shirt, anything! — but it was too late and, his eyes wide with terror, shock and simple disbelief, Wong Xiang fell from the rooftop of the National Monument, four hundred feet to the concrete square below; and Cole and Park watched in dejected horror as the body erupted over the sidewalk, shattered completely, whatever information he could tell them about Liang Kebangkitan lost forever.
For an instant Cole wondered whether there was any point in fighting on; their target was lost, why not just agree to move on? But he knew deep down that this could never happen, that Park’s warrior honor would demand closure; and then he felt the air parting and moved back from the edge of the building just in time, Park’s boot flying an inch from his face.
Cole trotted back to control the center of the roof, keeping Park’s back to the edge, using his footwork to keep to the safety zone.
Park attacked again with a side kick to Cole’s knee, and Cole stepped off to one side and threw a powerful shot into the man’s liver, doubling him up and then lashing out with a Thai leg kick of his own, smashing his hardened shin bone into the side of Park’s knee., shattering the patella and tearing the ligaments.
Pain creased Park’s face and he stumbled, struggling to stand; but his guard was still up, and his eyes were still focused.
Cole threw a hard front kick, but Park intercepted it with his elbow, jamming the point down onto the small bones of Cole’s foot. As Cole sagged forward, Park unleashed a front kick of his own; powerful enough, even with his knee destroyed, to propel Cole back across the rooftop, his feet touching the edge.
Like Wong, he teetered, trying to get his balance, and then went, toppling backwards over the edge.
Unlike Wong, Cole managed to twist his body in mid-air, turning to catch hold of the precipice with his vice-like fingertips. The wind pulled at him, threatening to rip him off the side and send him plummeting to the concrete hundreds of feet below him, and for a second Cole was overwhelmed by a powerful sense of vertigo as he saw the great Indonesian city spread out like a grey urban blanket beneath him.
But then his equilibrium recovered and he tried to pull himself up. He saw the black boots of his opponent come stamping down towards his hands and instead of hauling himself up onto the rooftop he swung one leg up and around above him, sweeping Park’s supporting leg out from underneath him like a scythe.
He pulled himself back over the parapet in one smooth movement, jumping on top of Park, legs either side of his chest trapping the man tightly as he rained down blows on the agent’s head and body.
When Park went to cover up his face, Cole reacted to the opportunity and pulled one of the Korean’s arms out and up, securing it to his own chest with his hands as he swung one leg over Park’s face, moving his body until it made a right angle with Park’s, his elbow trapped across Cole’s hips.
And then in the same smooth fluid movement, Cole pulled back on the arm while raising his hips violently upwards, breaking Park’s arm at the elbow with the juji gatame armlock of both judo and jiu-jitsu.
Park stifled a scream and turned in towards Cole, unleashing the fist of his other arm in a frenzied attack as he struggled back to his feet. Cole pushed him away and they were separated again, both men now breathing hard despite their conditioning.
Cole knew the end was near — Park was at the limit and only had one good attack left in him.
It came sooner than Cole expected, a violent roar that emanated from deep within the center of the Korean’s powerful body. And then — even with a broken knee and arm — Park ran towards Cole — two steps, three, four — then braced his legs and to Cole’s amazement launched himself off his damaged leg, attacking Cole with twimyo yeop chagi, the immensely powerful flying side kick of taekwondo which had been used once upon a time to knock armored warriors from their mounts.
Cole knew that if it caught him in the chest or head he would have no chance — the power of the kick would send him sailing out into the void with no hope of grabbing the roof.
But Cole was able to read the passage of the kick as it sliced through the air and grabbed it with both hands, right around Park’s lower leg; and, keeping his center of gravity low, Cole pivoted violently, using Park’s own momentum to turn him in midair, swinging his body around like an Olympic hammer thrower until the point of …
Release.
Cole let go of Park’s leg and watched as the Korean’s body went spiraling off the side of the building, eyes finally wide in panic as he realized that there would be no second chance.
And then he was gone.
Cole saw the body hit the square below, not too far from Wong’s, the Korean’s halo of bright red blood mixing with the arms broker’s, and he sighed.
Damn.
What was he going to do now that he’d lost his only lead?
He sat down on the roof, exhausted from the combat, the adrenalin.
Across the dusty marble roof, he saw something.
It was a cellphone, and hope leapt in Cole’s heart as he raced over to it.
Yes, he thought happily.
Maybe there was still a chance after all.
PART THREE
1
Minister of State Security Choi Ho-ki stared across the parade ground, hands behind his back, watching the military parade in front of him; hundreds of loyal soldiers in the Korean People’s Army Ground Force going through intricately choreographed drill moves with wonderful precision.
President Kim himself was watching too, from a raised dais behind a row of battle tanks, surrounded by his normal entourage of key advisers.
The morning air was chilly, and Lt. General U Chun-su breathed out steadily and watched the air turn to steam in front of him as he waited for Choi to speak.
‘What do you think our great leader will say when I speak to him later?’ Choi said finally, eyes still locked on the parade ground, not even wanting to look at the Director of the RGB.
‘I will tell him myself,’ U said humbly, knowing that it would be expected. ‘I will tell him that I failed.’
There was a pause as Choi seemed to consider the matter. ‘No,’ he said evenly. ‘That is not what will happen. President Kim is expecting results, and we will deliver them, do you understand?’
‘But what can we —’
‘We can press ahead as planned. Off schedule of course, but you will have to be flexible. We still have quantities of the product left at Camp Fourteen?’
‘Yes, we have a large stockpile, but what —’
‘That is what you will need to figure out,’ Choi explained patiently. ‘If you wish to retain your position as Director, you will carry out this mission as directed. President Kim is only interested in results, not in methods. Get it there, use it, any way you can. Yes?’
U nodded his head slowly, watching the army parade in front of him, marching right past them with the click of boots and the swish of material; postures erect, faces proud.