Stone’s and Reuben’s fingers tightened on their pistol triggers. Stone eased forward and lined up a shot. The problem was the men were carrying MP-5 machine guns. If Stone and Reuben each took out one of the North Koreans, that would leave one left and their position revealed. And even with two pistols between them, it would not be an easy thing to beat an MP-5 in a pair of skilled hands.
“Holy shit!” Reuben exclaimed.
One of the North Koreans had just dropped to the ground with a knife stuck in the side of his neck. The other two instantly fired in the direction of where the knife had come. Then there was silence as the two North Koreans hurriedly moved forward, taking up cover behind the old car. With the backs of the North Koreans now to Stone and Reuben, the two Camel Club members could have taken out both of them. Yet when Reuben looked over questioningly, Stone shook his head. He wanted to see how this played out before they committed themselves.
One of the North Koreans drew an object from his jacket, pulled a pin and tossed it in the direction of the knife thrower.
Even though the grenade was not heading in their direction, Stone grabbed Reuben and pressed him to the floor of the landing they were on.
The explosion rocked the small space. When the noise abated and the smoke cleared somewhat, Stone and Reuben glanced up in time to see the North Koreans moving forward. Stone would have waited: It was still too smoky to see all that clearly.
An instant later, leaping out of this cover of smoke was a figure dressed all in black from head to foot. He moved with such incredible speed and agility that he appeared to be immune to the effects of gravity. A pair of crescent swords flashed at his sides like wings.
Using the swords, he struck the machine guns, knocking them out of the North Koreans’ hands. When they reached for their pistols, the swords sliced into their holsters, dropping them to the ground, where their assailant kicked them away. All this occurred in one blindingly fast series of motions.
Then the man stopped and stood between the pair of North Koreans. He very deliberately took off his black hood and placed the crescent swords on the floor.
Tom Hemingway eyed the men closely and then spoke to them in Korean.
“What’d he say?”
“Basically to surrender or die,” Stone answered, his gaze transfixed on the scene in front of them.
“Think they will?” Reuben whispered.
“No. They’re North Koreans. Their tolerance for pain and suffering is beyond most people’s comprehension.” As Stone stared at Hemingway, he thought to himself,
The North Koreans both assumed Tae Kwon Do stances. One made a quick feint with his foot that Hemingway didn’t even bother to respond to. He spoke again to them in Korean. They both shook their heads. The other launched a kick at Hemingway, who grabbed the man by the foot with one hand and, with a thrust of his arm, sent him sailing backward. He spoke again in Korean.
“He said, ‘I’m sorry to have to do this,’” Stone answered as Reuben looked at him questioningly.
Before they took another breath, Hemingway struck. His fist broke right through the feeble defense of one of his opponents and slammed directly into the man’s chest. Moving so fast it was actually difficult to follow with the naked eye, Hemingway whirled and delivered a crushing kick to the side of the man’s head.
Even from where they were hiding, Stone and Reuben could hear the snap of the man’s neck.
The other man ran across the street toward the car with Hemingway on his heels. When he whirled around, Hemingway saw the knife and leaped. The man threw the knife and it sliced into Hemingway’s arm, but he kept coming. The heel of his foot hit the North Korean directly on the chin, knocking him back against the car. Hemingway stopped and looked at the blood on his arm, then turned his attention back to the man.
“This ain’t going to be pretty,” Reuben said.
Hemingway’s first strike killed the man. Stone could see this from where he was crouched. He had never seen a blow that hard thrown by a human being. It was more like the raw power of a grizzly bear.
And yet Hemingway did not let the North Korean fall. He held him up against the car and kept striking away, in the head, in the chest and in the abdomen. He was hitting him with such force and astonishing speed that when Hemingway finally let go and the man slumped to the ground, Stone and Reuben could see that the car door behind him had been caved in.
Hemingway stepped back and took a deep breath as he surveyed the three dead men. As he went to pick up his swords, Stone took out his pistol and drew a bead on the back of Hemingway’s head. Suddenly, Hemingway stiffened, stood straight and slowly turned in the direction of where Stone and Reuben were hidden.
He stared up at the window. Although he couldn’t possibly see them, it was clear that Hemingway was aware of their presence.
As Hemingway stood there, apparently waiting for the bullet to come, Stone lowered his gun. Hemingway waited a few seconds, and then, in a blink, he was gone.
Simpson ran as fast as she could but was hopelessly disoriented. She finally stopped and looked around. She was in a maze. “Alex?” she cried out.
“Jackie!”
She ran toward his voice.
“Jackie, they’re in here somewhere. Watch yourself.”
She instantly stopped and knelt down, listening. All she could hear at first was her breathing. Then the sounds of footsteps, stealthy footsteps. She backed down the corridor, away from them. She held her pistol up, ready to fire
“Jackie?”
“Down here,” she called out.
Alex stuck his head around the corner and saw her. He quickly joined her.
She looked at his filthy clothes. “What the hell happened to you?”
He rubbed at the muck. “Don’t ask. Just don’t ever say I lack patience, or I’ll deck you.” He gazed behind him. “Two guys blew past me coming in here. Any sign of them?”
She shook her head. “So how do we get out of here?”
“It’s as simple as checking the floor.”
“What?”
Alex didn’t answer. He walked down the corridor and stopped where it intersected with another. He got on his knees and looked at the floor. “Damn, how about that?”
Simpson hurried forward and joined him.
“See?” He was pointing at a small dot in a crevice in the floor that was barely visible.
“A red dot,” Simpson said. “What does that tell us?”
“Which way to turn.”
“How?”
“You must be a landlubber.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning sailors know that red means port and port means left.” He turned left down the corridor, and they walked along until they reached another intersection. There they found another dot. This one was green.
“Green means starboard and starboard means—”
“Right,” Simpson finished for him.
They made their way through the corridor this way and soon found themselves at the end.
“Okay, how did you know about the dots?” Simpson demanded.
“Oliver told me.”
“So he really was here,” Simpson said slowly.
Alex stared at her. “I never doubted it.” He looked up ahead at the door at the far end of the hall. “Oliver said we only had two rooms on this side. That means through that door—”
“Is the president.”
“And Hemingway,” Alex added grimly.
“He is a federal agent, Alex, which means he might be on our side.”
