“What’s this?” asked Mitchell.
“That is the location of the parking lot that Sam and Cardinal were going to investigate when they disappeared,” explained Jackson.
“Where are all the cars?”
“They must have been hauled away by the army. In fact, there isn’t a single abandoned vehicle between the highway and Cypher’s factory anymore.”
“That’s not a good sign. Someone’s probably busy covering their tracks right now, and that doesn’t bode well for Sam and Gordon.”
“Our thoughts as well,” said Yuri as he reached into his shirt pocket, grabbed his cigarette package, and then lit one of the cheap, foul-smelling cigarettes.
The next image was an aerial view of the factory, centered on the large building in the middle of the complex.
Mitchell leaned forward in his seat studying the image taking in every detail, from the size of the buildings, their proximity to one another, and especially the security measures in place around the factory.
“Are we still receiving a signal from Sam and Cardinal’s tracking devices?” asked Mitchell.
“Still coming in loud and clear from the main complex building,” answered Yuri.
“The bad news is that the army has established several roadblocks around the factory that are manned night and day,” said Jackson. “It looks like no one is getting in or out of that place without their permission.”
“Security inside the factory?” asked Mitchell, still studying the image on the wall.
“They look like private security, not army regulars,” said Jackson. The image of several men wearing blue SWAT-style uniforms and carrying AK-74s in their hands, standing at the front gate of the factory flashed up on the wall.
“We think we saw about thirty of them spread out throughout the factory,” said Yuri.
“So there’s probably double that on the grounds. You can only see one of the two shifts,” said Mitchell. “One guards the perimeter of the factory while the other keeps watch on whatever is happening inside.”
“Yeah, you could be right,” said Jackson, reaching for the last pastry.
“Okay, I’ve seen enough. We go in tonight,” announced Mitchell.
“And just how do you propose we do that?” asked Yuri, flicking the lights back on in the room.
“I doubt we could drive up and bluff our way into the factory,” said Jackson. “I hate to break it to you, Ryan, but none of us look the slightest bit Mongolian.”
“I don’t intend to drive or break my way into the factory,” said Mitchell.
Yuri shook his head. “Then what is your great plan?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Mitchell.
“No.” replied Yuri.
Mitchell smiled. “Yuri, we will drop in uninvited and before anyone discovers that we’re there. We’ll find our friends and then make our way back to the top of the main factory building where you will pick us all up.”
“Oh Lord, you want us to jump from that rust bucket out there into a complex guarded by sixty trigger-happy rent-a-cops, don’t you?” moaned Jackson.
Mitchell nodded. “I can’t think of a better plan… can you?”
Jackson shook his head. “No, I guess not. When do you want to be ready to depart?”
“No later than twenty-three hundred hours.”
“This will cost me a ton of my hard-earned money to buy parachutes, night-vision gear, silenced weapons, and so on,” complained Yuri.
Mitchell knew it was all an act. If he had asked Yuri to obtain a nuclear submarine, he had no doubt that he would know someone, somewhere, who could make the deal happen and on time.
“Quit bellyaching, Yuri. You know General O’Reilly will pay you back,” said Mitchell. “Speaking of the boss, have you guys heard from him recently?”
“Not since yesterday,” said Jackson.
Mitchell stood up and walked out onto the hangar floor. He dialed O’Reilly’s office number and waited. It was well into the evening back home, but Mitchell knew that O’Reilly would still be at his desk, waiting for him to call. A couple of seconds later, O’Reilly’s voice boomed in his ear.
Mitchell got right to the point. “Sir, have you been able to convince the State Department to check on Cypher’s factory?”
“No, I haven’t,” replied O’Reilly. “To be blunt, they are not really that interested in listening to me right now. The situation on the Korean peninsula is turning from bad to worse as each day goes by. Ever since all those children were killed in that vehicle accident with one of our trucks, there have been riots outside several U.S. establishments. Quite a number of student protestors have been killed in clashes with the police. People there are screaming for blood.”
“What about the attempt on Taro Satomi’s life? Surely they can’t dismiss that.”
“Ryan, even you have to admit that there is not one shred of evidence tying his attempted murder to Gabriel Cypher.”
Mitchell felt himself becoming frustrated. “Sir, as this is not a secure line, I’ll forward some thoughts to you on Yuri’s laptop in the next few minutes.”
“Understood,” said O’Reilly, knowing that Mitchell was going to present him with his plan to rescue his missing friends. He wished that he were ten years younger and in the field with Mitchell right now, not tied to his desk. Whatever Mitchell came up with, O’Reilly knew that he would back him all the way. Mitchell wasn’t going to let his people die, not while he still had the chance to save them.
“Sir, I’ve been thinking,”
“That would be a welcome departure from your usual modus operandi,” joked O’Reilly.
Mitchell shook his head. He had walked straight into that one. “Too funny, sir. With Fahimah laid up, I was thinking that perhaps Jen could give Mike a hand with the research into what the Japanese Army was up to on Matua Island. She’s a damn fine historian and is used to digging around for information. I bet she has friends who can help steer her in the right direction.”
“Good idea. I’ll run it by Mike and you by Jen. Perhaps together they can find the answers.”
“Sounds good.”
“Ryan, be careful and bring all of your people home with you,” said O’Reilly, his voice serious.
“Don’t worry, sir, I’m not leaving here until I have all of my friends back.” With that, the call ended.
Back in the States, O’Reilly turned his head and looked out the window of his office. He didn’t see the stars shining brightly in the night sky; his mind was elsewhere. If anyone could save Sam and Cardinal, O’Reilly knew that it was Ryan Mitchell. He was the best man he had in his entire organization. O’Reilly pitied anyone who got between Mitchell and his friends; they didn’t stand a chance. Once enraged, Mitchell wasn’t going to stop until he had sent them all to hell.
25
President Donald Kempt strode into the Situation Room wearing a white, short-sleeved golf shirt and tan slacks. Everyone respectfully rose from their chairs and waited until the president took his seat at the head of the long wooden table. After the morning brief, he was planning to join a charity golf tournament being held in Cumberland, Maryland, to raise money for a local children’s hospital. His staff knew that it was a ploy for votes. With the next presidential election just around the corner, Kempt knew that a bit of feel-good PR could never hurt while shoring up votes in a friendly state. Barely in his fifties, Kempt had a head of prematurely gray hair that he kept short. His dark blue eyes swept around the room, locking on his key advisors as he made his usual round of greetings and pleasantries before the briefing began.
Built below the West Wing of the White House, the Situation Room, originally built in 1961 during the Cuban Missile Crisis, was run by the National Security Council to keep the president and his key advisors up-to-date on any situation developing at home or overseas. Built with the most advanced, state-of-the-art secure communications equipment, the president could talk to any of his people, anywhere in the world, without fear of their conversation ever being intercepted. This morning, he was scheduled to speak with General Anthony James, the commander of U.S. forces in South Korea, about the deteriorating situation on the Korean Peninsula.