The Camel Club

“Jackie, listen to me. This guy is a traitor, and he can probably kill you with his pinkie. If you get a chance to shoot him, take it.”

“Alex!”

“No bullshit, Jackie. Just do it. Now come on.”

While Alex and Simpson were dashing through the maze, Stone and Reuben stepped into a room that had a hanging cage, chains on the wall, gurneys and trays of surgical instruments and what looked like an electric chair.

Stone stared at the latter device and drew a sharp breath. “They called this the room of truth. They used it to break you. The truth was they broke everybody eventually, me included.” He pointed to the chair. “They used too much electricity on one man that I trained with, and his heart stopped. They told his family he went missing overseas during a mission. He’s probably buried on Murder Mountain.”

“We might be too,” Reuben pointed out glumly.

“Let’s get on to the next room,” Stone said. “This one always made me sick.”

They had just started toward the exit when the door they had come through burst open.

“Run!” Stone shouted, throwing gunfire at the North Korean who had swept into the room. He fired back, and Stone had to hurl himself behind the electric chair.

Gunfire erupted on all sides of the room. A minute later while Stone was reloading as fast as he could, he heard Reuben yell out, “I’m hit! Oliver, I’m hit.”

“Reuben,” called out Stone as two shots whizzed by his head. He returned fire and ducked down. A clattering sound came from the left as though someone had overturned a tray of instruments; then came more noises of things being tossed around. Stone made a quick decision. He pointed his pistol at the ceiling lights and shot them all out.

In the darkness Stone put on his night-vision goggles, his gaze peering desperately through the gauzy green world the goggles created.

Where was Reuben? Where was he? Finally, Stone saw him lying on the floor behind an overturned gurney, holding his side. There was no sign of the North Korean. Stone kept sweeping the room with his gaze, finally stopping on one corner. Here gurneys and other medical equipment had been hastily stacked, forming a wall. The person had to be behind there. And then Stone’s gaze went upward, and he saw what had to be done. He laid on his back with his knees bent. He rested his gun between his knees and then clamped them together, which held the gun motionless. He lined up his target, exhaled all the air from his lungs and relaxed his muscles fully. It was as though all his training on how to kill someone had come effortlessly back to him, right when he needed it. Should I thank God or Satan?

In daylight the shot would’ve been simple. Looking into a world of green haze and knowing you had only one chance made the task far more complex.

He squeezed the trigger. The chain holding the cage, which rested right above where the North Korean was hiding, was cut neatly in two. And the one-ton cage fell.

Stone continued to watch, his pistol ready. What he saw next slightly sickened him, even though it had been his intent. The blood flowed under the gurneys and started pooling a few inches in front of this barrier.

Stone rose and made his way over to the corner. He cautiously peered over the wall of gurneys. Only a hand was visible from under the fallen cage. The man hadn’t even had time to scream. In Stone’s old world this would have been labeled a “perfect kill.”

“Oliver!” Reuben called out.

Stone turned and raced across the room to where Reuben sat against the wall, clutching his side. The knife was still in him, and blood had spread down his shirt and onto the floor.

“Shit, bastard got a lucky toss in. I’ll be okay. Had lots worse than this.” Reuben’s face, however, was ashen.

Stone ran to a set of shelves against the wall and threw them open. There were still bottles of ointment and tape and gauze stored there. He doubted the ointment would be any good, but the gauze and bandages were still in their sterilized wrappers. It would be cleaner than using Reuben’s shirt. He grabbed the supplies and headed back over to Reuben.

After bandaging him up, Stone helped him through the door into the next room.

As soon as they left the room, the door leading into the room of truth opened. Captain Jack cautiously peered in. He took a minute to search the space and then found his man under the cage.

Captain Jack said, “Okay, perhaps it’s time to live to fight another day. I’m sure the bloody North Koreans will understand.” He turned to retreat through the steel door but found that it wouldn’t open.

“I’d forgotten about that,” he muttered. He stood there wondering what to do. He checked his watch. Soon it wouldn’t matter.

CHAPTER

67

STONE AND REUBEN REACHED the lower level of the facility at about the same time as Alex and Simpson.

“So that makes nine Chinese dead,” Alex said after the two groups had compared notes.

“Actually, they’re North Koreans,” Stone corrected.

“North Koreans! What the hell are they doing involved in this?” Simpson asked.

Stone said, “I have no idea.” He pointed with his gun down the hallway. “But I do know that down there are the cells that were used to house ‘detainees’ for interrogation during my time here. Presumably, that’s where the president is.”

Alex checked his watch. “We’ve got three hours left,” he said urgently. “We’ve got to get the president, get out of here, grab a cell signal and call the Service. They’ll contact the White House and stop the launch.”

“Do you think there are any North Koreans left?” Simpson asked.

Alex said, “I saw two guys running past me when I was stuck in that tank. So—” He suddenly shouted, “Look out! Grenade!”

They scattered for cover as the object bounced down the stairs and landed near them. However, it wasn’t a grenade. It was a flash-bang, a device that stunned a person by using ear-piercing sound and blinding light. Members of the FBI’s hostage rescue team swore by its effectiveness. And it did its job this time. When it went off, all of them were instantly incapacitated.

Two North Koreans raced down the steps. They wore earplugs and so were unaffected by the sound of the explosion. They pointed their weapons at the helpless Alex and the others. Stone struggled to get to his feet, but he was so disoriented he couldn’t manage it. Simpson’s hands were over her ears, and she looked ready to pass out. Reuben lay crouched in the corner, clutching his side and breathing weakly.

One of the North Koreans shouted one word, in English this time. “Die!”

He moved his MP-5 shot selector to auto, and his hand slid to the trigger. He could empty his entire thirty- round mag in a few seconds.

And he would have too, if he’d still been alive. His spine snapped when the foot struck it from behind. He dropped to the floor. As he fell, his finger pushed back the trigger, and the machine gun emptied a few rounds right into the concrete floor. They ricocheted into the man, not that he felt them.

The other man tried to fire his gun at Hemingway, but Hemingway ripped the mag right off the stock, then crushed it against the man’s skull and finished him off with a vector strike to the liver, rupturing it. The man dropped to the floor with a thud.

Then Hemingway was gone.

As the effects of the flash-bang wore off, Alex struggled to his feet and helped Simpson up. Stone did the same with Reuben.

“Where did Hemingway go?” Stone asked.

Alex pointed down the hall. “That way. Through that door. I saw him right before he disappeared. I’m not sure how, because my head was exploding at the same time.”