Kill Chain Read online

  Niner’s eyebrows popped. “Intentionally?”

  Kim nodded. “That’s what the witnesses are describing, but they’re not always reliable.”

  Jimmy’s head bobbed. “True. And the bus?”

  She shook her head. “Apparently, it didn’t even slow down. The witnesses said it just kept going as if nothing had happened.”

  Niner’s eyes widened as he exchanged a glance with Jimmy. “It was an automated bus. There’s supposed to be an override inside in case of an emergency.”

  Kim shrugged slightly. “It clearly wasn’t used.”

  “Or it didn’t work.” Niner placed his hands on his hips, surveying the area before frowning at Jimmy. “This was no accident.”

  12

  South of the Crash Scene

  Seoul, Republic of Korea

  Stop with the humming, already!

  The incessant noise from Nancy’s seatmate had become louder, the lyrics to whatever tune she was nervously using to cope, occasionally escaping as the wide-eyed woman stared at her surroundings, her head turning as if on a swivel.

  It was annoying the hell out of her and everyone within earshot.

  “I-I think we’re here.”

  Nancy stared ahead and saw a large door opening on the side of a rather boring looking building, some sort of warehouse, the plain white paint appearing fresh, the building modern, though there were no markings to indicate who owned it. They were in some sort of industrial area from what she could tell, there plenty of other buildings and large trucks within sight, though none near their apparent destination.

  The bus didn’t slow, instead plunging deep into the darkness before coming to a rapid though controlled stop. The doors closed with a rattle behind them, the moment the sliver of light from the late morning sun was cut off, lights flickered on, illuminating their immediate vicinity, the rest of the warehouse inkwells of mystery.

  She flinched as a burst of static erupted from the speaker, the same odd voice starting, it altered somehow—a robotic sounding human.

  Or a human sounding robot?

  She stared out the windows at the dozens of drones.

  Robot uprising?

  “We have arrived. I kindly ask the security detail to disarm.”

  She pressed her face against the window, trying to spot someone, anyone, who might be behind this, but saw nothing except drones and a semi-trailer parked about fifty feet away, no driver evident.

  “Put your weapons down, gentlemen. Now.”

  The two security guards glanced at each other, clearly not happy about the instructions, though they had little choice. They pulled their weapons, raising them so that any cameras that might be watching could see them, then placed them on the floor.

  The front doors hissed open, several of the passengers leaping to their feet with the urge to escape their prison.

  They wisely held their places.

  “Will the security detail please step outside with Herr Holst.”

  The German Chancellor’s husband stood up partially, looking about, terror in his eyes. “Wh-why me?”

  “Please comply, or we will detonate the explosive devices attached to the bus.”

  Holst shuffled out of his seat, trembling, moving forward slowly, his hands gripping the headrests of each seat as he passed, the women occupying them reaching out to touch him, trying to give him comfort, and Nancy was certain, say goodbye, as she was sure they realized what was happening.

  There were only three men on the bus.

  And they were all about to step off.

  “They’re going to kill them,” she whispered to her Italian seatmate, her humming finally stopped, replaced by a rapidly bouncing knee.

  “No, no, dear, they’ll be okay. There’s nobody here to hurt them.”

  The woman did have a point. There was no one here. Nancy stared outside again, there still nothing but the truck and the drones that had followed them after the crash.

  Or are there more?

  She honestly couldn’t say. Dozens were in evidence, more than she had noticed when they were driving, though, for all she knew, they could have all been flying above the bus, out of her line of sight.

  “Please, gentlemen, we don’t have all day.”

  The first guard stepped down to the ground, the entire bus letting out a collective sigh as nothing happened. Herr Holst followed as Nancy racked her brain for his first name.

  You memorized this! Come on!

  She had to remember, she had to know, she had to have his full name before what was about to happen actually happened.

  She had to know who to pray for.

  Hermann!

  The second guard, the final man, stepped to the ground.

  Gunfire erupted, a steady barrage that lasted only seconds, multiple weapons firing, leaving three bloodied bodies to crumple to the ground.

  There was stunned silence.

  Then someone screamed.

  It was her.

  A blur rushed toward the entrance. She wiped the tears away and recognized the Chinese translator, a young, plain looking woman, trying to escape.

  Don’t do it!

  And she didn’t. She grabbed the two discarded handguns and began firing at the drones, one after the other dropping to the ground. Hope began to swell in Nancy’s stomach as she realized this woman was no translator, the calm, determined look on her face the look of a soldier, not a civilian. Everyone pressed against the glass, those on the other side leaping to hers to get a view of their savior’s handiwork. At least half a dozen drones were on the ground now, more falling with each volley.

  She’s going to do it!

  Suddenly the remaining drones turned toward their hero as if realizing they were under attack, and a barrage of gunfire replied, coming from where, she couldn’t tell.

  And the Chinese woman cried out, collapsing atop the body of Hermann Holst.

  Unmoving.

  The gunfire stopped, leaving nothing but the whimpers of those still alive.

  With no one left to save them.

  13

  Operations Center 1

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “Have a good evening, boss?”

  Leroux tossed a casual wave at Randy Child, the euphoria of a forbidden quickie in the back of the car a few minutes ago still flooding him with schoolboy giddiness. “Yup.”

  Child gave him a look, a grin spreading on his face as if he knew exactly what had happened. He raised a fist. “Hey! Hey!”

  Leroux left the fist unbumped. “What have we got?”

  Child became all business. “Just getting the feeds now. The Koreans are being extremely cooperative since they know they effed up.”

  “Do we know that?”

  Child shrugged. “Well, it was their job to provide the security and an entire busload of dignitaries is now missing, so yeah, I’d say they effed up.”

  Leroux ignored the intelligence assessment from his underling. “Do we have footage of the accident?”

  “Nope.”

  “I thought you said they were cooperating?”

  “They are but there’s nothing to see. The cameras were all dead at that intersection.”

  Leroux’s eyebrows popped. “You’re kidding me!”

  “Nope.”

  “There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”

  “Agreed,” said Leroux’s boss, National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison, as he entered the room. He held up a memory stick. “But we’ve got this.” He handed it to Leroux as he reached the center of the room.

  “What’s this?”

  “We had a U2 photographing the North Korean border area.”

  Leroux smiled, handing it to Child. “Anything worth seeing?”

  Morrison shook his head. “Don’t know yet. Every agency in the country just received the footage. The President has ordered no jurisdictional bullshit on this one. All hands on deck.”

  “Good.” Leroux motioned toward the memory stick
Child was loading. “If they’re photographing North Korea, what are they expecting us to find?”

  “The recon guys like to keep back from the border just in case the North Koreans decide to get camera shy, so with Seoul so close to the border, DoD thinks there’s an outside chance something’s on it.”

  Leroux’s head bobbed. The Lockheed U2’s Advanced Synthetic Aperture Radar System cameras were capable of photographing a massive chunk of territory with enough detail to read a license plate’s renewal sticker. If the timing was right, there just might be something to find.

  “Got it,” said Child, the center of the large array of displays curving around the front of the room rapidly beginning to flash through high-altitude photographs.

  “Synch the timecodes with when we know the accident happened.”

  Child’s fingers flew. “Got it.”

  “Now synch up the GPS coordinates for the crash site.”

  More fingers and seconds later they were staring at an aerial shot of the city. A grid appeared, latitude and longitude displayed, the city streets quickly outlined as the computer and its expert operator synched up the detailed maps with the photograph. The entire overlay flashed green.

  “Here we go,” murmured Child, zooming in on a segment near the lower edge of the image. “This is it. Timecode matches.”

  Leroux stepped toward the screen. “Okay, let’s follow the shots, see if anything shows up.”

  “Wait a minute.” Morrison pointed at a vehicle stopped on the side of the road. “That’s the fuel truck, isn’t it?”

  Leroux stepped closer. “It’s a fuel truck. Hard to say if it’s the fuel truck.” He snapped his fingers. “Split screen with the accident scene.”

  Sonya Tong, a young analyst with a desperate, inappropriate, and futile crush on her boss, complied, the display switching to show the unmolested fuel truck and the smoldering aftermath. “That has to be it.”

  Leroux agreed. “Exact same location. Back up the shots. I want to see how long this truck was there.”

  Child complied, geo-locked images appearing, the truck stationary until about five minutes before when it disappeared from the image.

  Morrison glanced at Child. “Move forward, slowly, let’s see if we can spot a driver.”

  The images flipped forward, the truck suddenly appearing then pulling over to the side. Child motioned at the screen. “Does he have his hazards on?”

  Leroux watched, trying to catch a change in the dozens of lights on the vehicle then pointed, nodding. “Yes, yes he does.”

  The driver’s door opened and a man stepped out, something pressed to his ear. “Cellphone?” suggested Morrison.

  “Looks like it.”

  The next image showed an extended arm, the next no cellphone. “It didn’t work?” Several more frames flashed by and the hood of the truck was opened, the driver leaning in. “Breakdown?”

  Leroux pursed his lips. “It would appear so, but right there, right then, minutes before the bus was coming through, at the same time the cameras were shut down?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Then what?”

  Leroux looked at his boss. “I don’t know.” He motioned toward the screen as the images flipped by, about one second apart. “The only way two cars hit a fuel truck is if it’s moving and hits them or gets in their way somehow. This truck has been sitting there the entire time, which means the escort vehicles hit the parked truck, just like the witnesses said.”

  “The eyewitnesses said they drove straight into it. I just assumed that was the usual witness BS.”

  “It looks like the witnesses might be right this time.” He held up a finger. “Here it is.”

  The lead escort vehicle entered the frame followed by the bus, its G20 logo emblazoned on the top. Suddenly the lead vehicle raced ahead then swerved to the right, slamming into the fuel truck, a massive freeze-frame explosion rising toward them, the angled, aerial shots providing a unique perspective. Moments later the trailing escort vehicle shot past the bus and disappeared into the ball of fire and smoke, the bus continuing on, driving out of the frame.

  “Follow that bus!” ordered Morrison, Child complying before it drove out of the last image. “Where’d it go?”

  Child threw his hands toward the screen in frustration. “That’s as far south as the images go. We were lucky to get what we did.”

  Morrison growled in frustration. “So what do we know?”

  “We know that the eyewitnesses were right.”

  “But it makes no sense!” Morrison scratched his forehead. “Suicide?”

  Leroux shook his head. “Both vehicles? No way. And to what end?” He pointed at the screen, Child having returned the focus to the crash site. “And a broken down fuel truck just happened to be there?” Leroux drew a deep breath before making his proclamation. “This was staged, and that security detail, and that truck driver, had no idea what was going on.”

  Morrison turned toward him, his eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

  Leroux stepped out on the limb. “I’m saying that the fuel truck didn’t break down, it was shut down, and not by the driver, otherwise he would have fled the scene rather than wait around to be killed. I’m saying that when those escort vehicles crashed into the truck, they weren’t being driven by anyone behind the wheel.”

  14

  Noksapyeong Road

  Seoul, Republic of Korea

  “What have we got?”

  Dawson stepped out of the SUV, an embassy staffer having driven them, she knowing the streets far better than any of his team. Niner and Jimmy stepped away from a conversation with several of the locals, joining him as he surveyed the scene.

  “A mess is what we’ve got,” replied Niner. “Witnesses are saying they intentionally did that.”

  Dawson grunted. “Yeah, Langley’s saying the same thing. They’ve got some images showing the fuel truck breaking down in that exact spot, then both vehicles slamming into it a few minutes later.”

  “That’s whack. Why the hell would they do that? Suicide?”

  Dawson shook his head. “Langley doesn’t think so, and neither do I. One driver, sure, but two? Uh-uh.”

  “So then what’s the thinking of those oh so smarter than us?”

  Dawson watched the firefighters give the all-clear, then motioned toward a cluster of Korean’s that appeared in charge. “Tell them we need the chips for the onboard computers from all the vehicles.”

  Niner, their native Korean speaker, left as Sergeant Will “Spock” Lightman’s eyebrow popped. “What’s that going to tell us? Whose insurance is covering this?”

  Dawson chuckled. “Nope. You’re not going to believe this, but Langley has a theory that the vehicles were hacked.”

  It was Jimmy’s eyebrows’ turn—both of them. “Are you kidding me? Like that briefing last year?”

  “Yup.”

  “Shit! If they did, that’s some pretty advanced stuff.”

  “Yeah, but we know we’re dealing with advanced hackers if they were able to commandeer the bus.”

  Atlas frowned, shaking his head. “No driver. I can’t believe we agreed to that.”

  Dawson watched Niner speak to the Koreans about the chips, orders shouted moments later. “We didn’t, but we were overruled. Nobody wanted to insult our hosts.”

  Jimmy grunted. “It’s that type of PC bullshit that keeps getting the world in trouble.”

  Dawson agreed. “We’ll solve the decline of Western civilization later. For now, we need to find that bus.”

  Jimmy stared in the direction the witnesses said the bus had continued. “Any leads?”

  “Nothing except that it continued south. Langley’s working on it. For now, let’s just make sure those chips are recovered and not tampered with.” Dawson looked at each of his team. “We trust no one. Not even our hosts.”

  15

  Unknown Location

  Seoul, Republic of Korea

 
“You will now proceed off the bus, one at a time, as your name is called. You will proceed to the back of the truck you see to your right.”

  Nancy Starling glanced at the truck, its rear gate lowering, still no one in sight. Her entire body was shaking, her right hand gripping her phone, her left squeezed by her Italian seatmate whose knee continued to bounce out of control.

  “If you attempt to run, you will be shot. If you follow our instructions, you will live. Now, Miss Starling, please proceed.”

  Nancy’s eyes shot wide open, another dose of fear induced adrenaline surging into her system. She tried to will her body to move, but she couldn’t. The blood pounded in her ears and her eyes began to focus on the speaker where the voice was coming from, the voice that seemed to be in complete control, everything else going black, the grill of the device consuming her entire world.

  “Miss Starling, if you fail to comply, you will die, as will all the others. Proceed. Now!”

  The Italian woman leaped to her feet. “Move! You have to move! They’ll kill us all!”

  Nancy sat, frozen, staring at the speaker.

  “Why aren’t you moving!” screamed the woman, her voice a distant echo, like a radio on in the background, listened to but not acknowledged.

  Someone blocked her view of the speaker, grabbing the Italian by the shoulders and pushing her away. “For the love of God, shut up! She’s just a child!”

  She felt a hand on her shoulder then another on her cheek, her face turned toward the new arrival, her eyes torn away from the speaker. “Can you hear me?”

  She stared at the woman, the words not registering, it taking her a moment to recognize the British Prime Minister’s wife.

  “Can you hear me?”

  It was repeated, slightly louder this time, though with a compassion lacking from her Italian counterpart.

  Nancy nodded.

  “Good. Now can you stand up?”

  She nodded, but didn’t.

  “I need you to stand up.”