Two minutes later, as the southbound BART train pulled into the Glen Park station, the second briefcase bomb exploded, with much the same results.
The final casualty toll for both bombs was eighty-three dead and 107 injured.
The boat was a Robalo R300, designed for fishing and enjoying a day out on the water. Powered by twin Yamaha four-stroke 300 horsepower engines, the thirty-foot vessel left South Beach Harbor a little after eleven, heading south-southeast at a leisurely twenty knots. Deep sea fishing rigs occupied the boat’s brass rod holders. The three men onboard, all Asian and wearing polo shirts and slacks, looked to be nothing more than friends ditching work for some fishing.
But these men weren’t fishing.
They were hunting.
One of the men stationed in the boat’s bow shouted back to the pilot while pointing ahead. “Buoy’s coming up. Front starboard side.”
Muhn nodded and adjusted the boat’s course so that it ran parallel to the line of buoys that marked the water boundary for the San Francisco International Airport Security Zone. This exclusion zone extended a mile and a quarter (2,000 meters) from the shoreline into the bay. Any boats that crossed into that zone were subject to being boarded and arrested by either the U.S. Coast Guard or the SFPD Harbor Patrol. Particularly for these individuals, that was a scenario to be avoided at all costs.
The third member of the team sat next to Muhn, adjusting controls on a radio. To anyone watching, he looked like just another boater monitoring the VHF marine channels for at-sea emergencies, weather or fishing reports. He was actually using an airband scanner, a legal device used to pick up the radio exchanges between air traffic control and incoming and outgoing aircraft, but not usually found on boats. He suddenly straightened and tapped the scar-faced captain on the shoulder. “Head south! Jetliner approaching from the southeast!”
Muhn nodded and changed his course even more, taking him away from the security zone. Both the man in the bow and the one listening to the radio moved to the boat’s stern, where what appeared to be additional fishing rod holders sat. They both knelt and worked fast to pull the real contents out and place them on the deck.
As they made final checks, a commercial passenger plane appeared in the distance to the southeast.
Oceanic Flight 674, en route from Dallas/Fort Worth to San Francisco, was making its final approach to San Francisco International. The pilot noticed the thick black smoke cloud on the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance and reported it to the air control tower.
The Boeing 747–400 crossed over the San Mateo Bridge at eighteen hundred feet, five miles out from Runway 28R. The aircraft continued descending, everything textbook…
…until three North Koreans in a boat just offshore fired two anti-aircraft missiles.
The anti-aircraft missiles the North Koreans fired at the descending aircraft were 9K38 Igla, the successor to the older Strela-3 man-portable air defense system. Known in the west as the SA-16 Gimlet, the Igla (Russian for “Needle”) was similar in warhead size to the Strela-3, but had a longer range and was much quicker than its predecessor. The result was that both missiles covered the distance between boat and aircraft in a little over six seconds.
The first missile struck the starboard wing between the two GE CF6-80C2 engines, shearing off more than half the wing and the outside engine, while sending shrapnel into the inside engine, causing it to explode. The second missile struck a fraction of a second later, ripping into the 747’s underbelly near the tail and sealing the plane’s fate. The 747 turned over and fell nose-first into the bay less than two miles from the end of the runway.
388 people died in the crash.
The three Special Forces operators immediately sped across the bay at wide open throttle. They cruised into a cove not far from Hayward, abandoned the boat and climbed into a waiting car. Ten minutes after that, they were driving into Oakland.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Tanner picked up his phone and was greeted with an urgent-sounding voice.
“Where are you?” Casey asked without preamble.
“Chinatown, three blocks away from the target. What’s wrong?”
“We just had a shitload of hell roll into town, courtesy of Rhee and his men.”
Tanner straightened in his seat, instantly alert. “What happened?”
“Simultaneous attacks on the Golden Gate, BART and San Francisco International in the last ten minutes. The body count at the airport alone is already in the triple digits.”
“Do you want us to abort?”
“No. Rhee’s your only concern.”
Tanner glanced at the rest of the team. Dante was driving and the others were in the cargo bay. Like Tanner, they were dressed in dark blue jumpsuits, and the cargo bay was filled with painting equipment. “Understood.”
“If the investigation finds anything that pertains to Rhee and his people, we’ll pass it along.”
“All right. Where are you?”
“Still at the hotel. I’ve ordered the federal offices here in the city to give any help the city needs, but otherwise, I’m staying out of the way. Relations between the city and D.C. are not the best, and they don’t want me looking over their shoulder. If they need me, they’ll call. Otherwise, I’ll monitor the situation from here.”
“Right. Keep us informed.”
“You know I will. Bye.”
“What’s wrong?” Dante asked.
Tanner told them. Liam scowled. “There could be other attacks happening.”
“We have no idea when or if they’re going to happen,” Tanner said. “Right now, we have a clear mission. Let’s stick with that instead of chasing after an enemy we have no intel on.”
“I know,” Liam said sourly. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Neither do I.”
The lobby of the Trans-Continental Marsh Hotel was large, stylish and displayed the luxury that awaited the guest. As the highest-end hotel in the city, its clientele were among the richest and most politically connected people on the planet.
To Seonwoo, it was an example of the corruption that infested the west. Hidden behind designer sunglasses, his eyes scanned the lobby, looking to pinpoint potential threats such as security cameras and guards. He noted three men in the lobby who were armed, and several well-placed security cameras. The Americans pretended to take security seriously, but to Seonwoo it was a joke.
For the past four hours, members of Seonwoo’s unit had been drifting into the hotel in ones and twos. Most headed up to the world-renowned restaurant at the top of the hotel and had breakfast, in perfect position to see the explosions on the Golden Gate. Taking it as a signal, they had hurriedly paid and left. Instead of going down to the lobby, the soldiers descended to the seventeenth floor, where two members of the unit had rented a room. They were now preparing for the mission.
Seonwoo leisurely headed toward the elevators. The business suit he wore was high-end, as were the shoes and the briefcase he carried. No one noticed him as he walked through the lobby, one of a dozen people coming and going.