Rather than crawl precariously back down the sloping roof girder, Richter decided it would be quicker to use his climbing rope, and go straight down to the floor of the hangar. He draped it over the main roof spar, both ends of it easily reaching the ground. He looped the safety strap around the beam, clipped it to his harness, and altered his position until he was lying flat across the steel spar.
Trapping the two lengths of the dangling rope between his boots, he also gripped it firmly with his right hand before totally letting go of the beam itself. The safety strap immediately tugged at his harness, and he reached down and released the clip, allowing the strap to slide around and off the steel beam and dangle loose below him. The descent was fast and easy, Richter letting the doubled-over climbing rope slide through his gloved hands, till in seconds he was standing on the hangar floor.
He tugged one end of the rope, pulling it clear of the beam, then coiled it and looped it back over his shoulder. He next walked over to the cherry-picker and lowered its cradle to ground level, then checked around with his torch that he wasn’t leaving anything behind him. Seeing nothing out of place, he crossed over to the side door he’d used to enter. At least he wouldn’t have to pick the lock this time, nor was he wasn’t going to bother relocking the five-lever mortise. He’d merely close the door behind him and walk away.
Richter pressed his ear to the door and just listened for a few seconds. ‘Spook. I’m coming out,’ he said into the microphone, and waited for Dekker’s acknowledgement. Then he turned the handle of the Yale lock and eased the door open.
Wallace moved the rifle across to cover the side door of the hangar, watching for Richter to re-emerge. He saw the doorway turn black as the door opened inwards, then a dark shape appeared and looked cautiously in both directions. The sentry wasn’t in sight, and within seconds the door was closed again behind him.
But as Richter started to sprint across the open ground towards the cover of the oil drums, the guard suddenly stepped around the corner, then froze as he saw a running man.
‘Boss,’ Wallace hissed urgently.
‘I see him. Alpha Two – take him out.’
Wallace shifted his aim fractionally, centring the cross-hairs on the sentry’s chest. Above the sight picture, he saw the Algerian open his mouth to shout as he began unslinging his AK47 assault rifle. Then Wallace squeezed the trigger. The sniper rifle bucked against his shoulder, but the suppressor reduced the noise to a muffled thud, and the guard tumbled backwards, the Kalashnikov falling from his lifeless hands.
Hearing the faint noise of the shot coming from outside the boundary fence, Richter glanced round even as he ran. He absorbed the scene in an instant. Time was now crucial, as sooner or later one of the other guards would be bound to notice that the sentry was missing, and head around the side of the hangar to check on him. The team had minutes at best to get away from here.
Richter raced straight for the section of fence where he’d stashed the ladder, lifted it up and leant it against a post. In front, he could see Dekker moving quickly towards him in a crouch, another SAS soldier right behind him. Richter climbed up and perched for a moment on top of the fence, while he swung the ladder over, then slid down to the open ground outside.
‘Time we got out of here,’ Dekker observed.
‘Roger that.’
As they turned away from the fence, Richter felt a slight tug on his left boot. He glanced down and spotted what they’d all missed, but it was now too late. The thin silver trip-wire gleamed in the darkness.
‘Oh, shit.’
Behind him security lights suddenly flared into life, illuminating the boundary fence and the open ground outside it. Simultaneously, sirens started their atonic wailing. Their supposedly covert insertion and surveillance operation had just turned very
The truck seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute the road was empty as far as Yi Min-Ho could see. Then headlights came stabbing through the darkness directly towards him. The unmistakable sound of a big diesel engine shattered the silence of the night.
He’d just crossed the bridge over the river that drains into the Teiton Wan bay at Ugom, and was about to leave the road and strike out across country, heading for a narrow gap through the double line of hills that lay north of the town.
For an instant Yi didn’t move, a combination of fatigue and surprise momentarily dulling his reactions, then he stepped unhurriedly off the verge – if the truck contained police or soldiers, a sudden movement would immediately attract their attention – and headed into the adjacent field. But the moment he was clear of the headlight beams, he ran like hell.
The truck growled to a halt and Yi could clearly hear men shouting, followed by the sound of their boots clumping loudly on the metalled surface of the road. He concentrated totally on keeping his footing on the uneven soil, and covering the ground as swiftly as possible.
The sudden flare of the truck’s headlights had impaired his night vision, and Yi stumbled and almost fell three times in his desperate escape. But the men behind him experienced exactly the same problem, and the dancing beams of their torches were of little help because he already had a substantial lead of about one hundred metres.
The ground beneath his feet began to change as scrubby farmland gave way to the uncultivated terrain leading up to the foothills. Running across rough ground is very tiring, and Yi’s breath now came in short, painful gasps. He would be forced to stop soon, despite his desperate situation.
Around him were clumps of bushes and stunted trees, and he realized that these offered the best cover he was likely to find. He slowed down and skidded behind two trees growing close together, looking back down the slope towards the lights of his pursuers. They were now even further away, probably two hundred metres, but Yi could clearly sense the determination in their pursuit.
What had started out seemingly as a simple chase was now transformed into a methodical search, with about fifteen men spread out in a line and walking up the hill towards him. Making a conscious effort to slow his breathing, Yi pulled out his binoculars and focused them.
The moonlight was bright enough for him to detect that they were soldiers, assault rifles slung over their shoulders. He’d obviously been unlucky enough to run into a North Korean Army patrol, but the surprise was that they hadn’t already started firing in his direction. Because these were military, rather than the police, he didn’t imagine they would give up the chase easily, but whatever happened, he mustn’t get caught. Realizing he would now have to put as much distance as possible between himself and such a determined pursuit, Yi replaced the binoculars in his pocket, turned northwards and jogged on up the hill.
In fact, luck had nothing to do with this encounter. The moment Pak Je-San ended the call from the radar- watch supervisor at Pyoksong, he had proceeded to mobilize troops from the closest military establishment, which was the fighter airfield at T’ae’tan. There were very few roads in that part of the country, so anyone landing south of Suri-bong had little option but to head east. And therefore Pak had guessed exactly where his quarry was going.
Suddenly the base came alive with the sound of vehicle engines revving up and with loudly shouted orders. The sentries around the various hangars left their posts and began running towards the perimeter fence. It was only a matter of seconds, Richter realized, before they started shooting.
‘All callsigns, Alpha One,’ Dekker shouted. ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here. Break, break. Delta One and Two, get the Pinkies moving, immediate.’
The response from the two SAS troopers guarding the Land Rovers was instant. ‘Deltas mobile, heading straight for you.’
The six SAS men were already up and running, weaving and dodging unpredictably from side to side to make themselves as difficult targets as possible, but all the time heading away from the fence and the glare of the security lights.
‘Regroup in two hundred yards,’ Dekker instructed, as the metallic clatter of a couple of Kalashnikovs on full
