She looked up, seeking another target, but there was nothing. She heard gunfire from below and launched herself down the stairs, her hand reaching for a fresh magazine for her pistol.
Seonwoo emptied a full magazine up the stairs, grinning with vicious pleasure as his target, the pesky woman, scrambled to safety. When the Uzi ran dry, he reached for a fresh magazine, only to find he hadn’t any left for the Israeli-made submachine gun. He dropped the now useless weapon, pulled out his Baek Du San and started up the stairs.
He reached the landing and kicked a strange-looking weapon into the corner. The woman, a short-haired redhead, was crawling up the stairs to the next landing. He stayed close to the railing and raised his pistol, but before he could fire, someone yelled, “Hey, asshole!”
The shout came from the stairs to Seonwoo’s right. He spun as three bullets struck him in the torso. His knees buckled, but he stayed up, eyes blazing with rage when he saw the shooter was John Casey, his target. He muttered a curse and raised his pistol, only to die when DuPree fired her own SIG Sauer P229 three times, each round finding its target in Seonwoo’s neck and head. The North Korean captain fell over the rail and dropped into the wispy smoke. He was dead before he hit the bottom of the stairwell.
If Tanner had been standing with both feet on the same stair, the charge would have knocked him down the stairs and possibly killed or crippled the OUTCAST leader.
Instead, his left foot was two steps higher than his right, giving Tanner a strong base with which to put his weight forward. So when the North Korean commando slammed into him, it was the commando who was off-balance. A knife appeared in the soldier’s hand and he slashed at Tanner, the blade bright in the still-smoky stairwell.
Tanner smashed the MP5’s barrel into the knifeman’s forearm, then fired off a burst into the man’s chest. The assailant writhed in pain, but managed to grab the MP5’s barrel with his free hand while thrusting at Tanner with the knife.
Two shots distorted the man’s face before exploding out the back of his head. The attacker dropped to the stairs like a puppet with cut strings. Tanner turned to see Liam reholster his pistol. He nodded to him and then moved up the stairs to the next landing, just as a shadowy figure fell past them beyond the rail and disappeared into the swirling smoke.
“Prime to Six! Who just fell down the stairs?”
“A Tango, Prime. We have one critically injured team member up here — Casey’s aide — and the Secret Service agent with us has a wounded hand.”
From somewhere below, doors opened and the clamoring of boots echoed up the stairwell. Tanner looked down and saw that the smoke had dissipated enough to see armed police officers racing up the stairs, as well as a body sprawled at the bottom of the stairwell.
“Police are here,” Tanner radioed.
“Casey says to get up here. He says it’s easier to explain to the police if we’re all together.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
It was after 2pm when Tanner and Liam walked into the incident command center. The center was in one of the hotel’s smaller ballrooms, guarded by several SFPD SWAT and police officers in riot gear. The pair made their way through the personnel, tables, and equipment to a small table in the back of the room. Casey sat in a chair with DuPree standing behind him, her hand bandaged, but holding Danielle’s P-90, and still trying to look alert. Naomi and Danielle sat at the table with Casey, both women looking drained.
“Well?” Casey asked as Tanner and Liam sat down.
“The protection team was nearly wiped out,” Tanner said. “Only two survivors, both of them wounded. We’ve counted ten Tango corpses, two in the suite and eight in the stairwell. One innocent bystander is dead, and the police are sweeping the building floor by floor with their SWAT teams, making sure no more Tangos are hiding. We checked the attackers’ bodies, and I’m certain they’re all North Koreans.”
“I think we have Rhee’s attention,” Casey said.
“What about Halverstaff?” Tanner asked, concern etching his face even though he knew the young man was not well-liked.
Casey exhaled. “In the hospital. Multiple bullet wounds, broken arm, leg and his other wrist is broken, but it looks like he’ll live.” His chuckle was short and almost amused. “He told me before he was wheeled into surgery that he resigning as my aide.”
“Can’t say as I blame him. So what’s the latest out there?” Liam asked.
Casey leaned back in his chair. “The acting mayor has declared a state of emergency and requested state and federal assistance. He’s also enacted a dawn to dusk curfew for the city. The National Guard has been activated and there’s a Marine battalion en route from Twenty-Nine Palms. Both Oakland and San Jose are sending first responders to help. I’ve talked to the president and he’s already set things in motion at the federal level.”
Tanner eyed his other two squad members. “You two all right?”
“Legs ache,” Naomi said. “Otherwise, we’re ready to roll.”
Tanner stood. “We’d better get going. If Rhee’s behind this, we need answers and we need them now.”
Casey tipped his head toward the door. “Go. I need to wait for the replacement protection team from the local Secret Service office. They should be here any minute.” He shifted his gaze to Danielle. “You want to go up and get your equipment?”
Danielle shook her head. “I have my main laptop in my bag. Everything else up there I can replace with a run to any electronics store.”
“We do need to get our stuff from our rooms,” Tanner said.
“Let’s get moving,” Casey reminded. “Rhee’s upped the ante and we have no telling how far he’s going to go. Call me if you need something.”
The San Francisco Emergency Response command center was a beehive of activity. With four major scenes of disaster, the tension was high as the city’s emergency management team tried to coordinate rescue and recovery on a scale none of them had ever expected to see. Everyone was speaking at once, communicating with the small band of senior decision makers who looked harried as they deployed resources to the crime scenes.
In the back of the room, Acting Mayor Norman Kwan watched the people and systems he had helped fund and hired do their jobs. He was exhausted in both mind and body, having slept only a couple of hours in the last day and a half. He had no proof, no insider knowledge of the attacks, and yet he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who was behind them.
Rhee.
He felt a spark of anger ignite within him. That bastard had invaded his city, killed hundreds of innocent people, and for what? Why had he done this? He inhaled slowly. The bastard had done one thing — he’d destroyed any lingering loyalty Kwan felt for his homeland. Too much time and too much blood had flowed for him to feel anything but contempt for the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.
“Sir?”
Kwan turned his head slowly to see his aide. Sammi Jakes had been his personal assistant for ten years, and the youthful, stunning blonde had fueled rumors that she was his mistress. The reality was more mundane — Kwan loved his wife and family, while Sammi had her own wife with whom she was in the process of adopting children.
“What now?”
“The press is demanding an update.”
“What time is it?”
“Two-thirty.”
“Tell them we’ll have a news conference at three. That’ll give us time to get the latest updates on the scenes.”
Sammi nodded. “You should get some rest, sir. Right after the press conference.”
Kwan snorted. “Not likely. The city’s going to hell. I’ve got no time for rest.”