Point of Contact

The chief informed his men that he had received their deployment orders directly from Pyongyang. They were to split their forces between the only two crossing points, the eastern Johor causeway and the western Second Link. The mission was also specified:

Recover the USB drive.

Kill Brown.

Kill Fairchild.

“And most important, capture Jack Ryan!”

* * *

The four grim RGB men in the Kia Sorento with DPRK diplomatic license plates sped through the early-morning gloom and the drenching rains at high speed — far higher than caution warranted in the current conditions. The drive to the Second Link causeway across from Tuas Checkpoint at normal speeds would take almost three and a half hours. They needed to beat that time, and the late start didn’t help.

Fortunately, the roads were clear at this time of the morning, and traffic warnings had urged Malaysians to avoid driving altogether until noon tomorrow, if possible.

The North Korean driver pushed the four-cylinder to its maximum, breaking far beyond the speed limit. The police wouldn’t dare pull them over with their diplomatic plates — and no police were to be seen, anyway.

The edge of the unusual storm had reached Kuala Lumpur, but it was not nearly as destructive as it had been reported in Singapore and points south. Though the road conditions were dangerous, each man in the vehicle knew that death in a fiery car crash was preferable to what awaited them if they failed their mission.

SOUTHERN MALAYSIA

Jack, Paul, and Lian finally reached the far side, safely away from the river but still pummeled by the ceaseless rain and wind. They stopped to catch their breath. No cars were around. Certainly no emergency vehicles. If anybody saw them make the crossing, they weren’t doing anything to help them now.

“Now what?” Paul asked. “Keep walking?”

“What else can we do?” Jack said. He turned to Lian. “What time is it?” Not only had the wave broken his arm, it had busted his watch.

“Three twenty-eight. Three hours and thirty-two minutes to go.” Lian shook her head. “We need to find a car, fast.”

“You find the drive, Jack?” Paul asked.

“It’s in my pocket.”

“Sorry about that. I’m sorry about everything—”

“Just buy me a beer and we’ll call it even, okay? In the meantime, we need to find some wheels.”

“The Honda’s lights are still on,” Paul said. “Won’t somebody come out and take a look?”

Jack shook his head. “Not in these conditions. Too dangerous. We can’t wait around for them to show up. We’re running out of clock.”

“I know where we might find a car,” Lian said.

71

Five minutes later, the drenched and weary threesome stood on the empty elevated expressway overlooking what appeared to be a used-car lot. The fenced property bordered on a two-lane road that ran east-west through a tunnel beneath the expressway.

A flash of lightning revealed more detail.

“Criminy. It’s a pick-n-pull,” Paul said.

“What?” Lian asked.

“A junkyard,” Jack explained, as booming thunder echoed overhead.

Paul counted thirty cars in the yard, but they were all parted out. Some were stacked three and four high, wheels missing, engines gone. A large steel garage stood at the back of the lot.

“Well, at least there are plenty of cars to choose from,” Jack said, grinning and grimacing at the same time.

Lian said, “Let’s get out of the rain.”

“Maybe there’s a clunker down there that actually runs,” Paul said hopefully. He eyed the steep, grassy embankment. It wouldn’t be easy for Jack to traverse it. Farther up, there was fencing along the expressway, which prevented a descent, and the embankment got even steeper, so this was as good as it was going to get.

Paul’s eye caught sight of movement north, up on the expressway. He pointed. “Is that a car?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, trying to focus. Two miles away, a pair of headlights barreled toward them.

“They’re flying,” Jack said.

“An emergency vehicle?” Paul wondered.

“No emergency flashers? Not likely,” Lian said.

“Then who?” Paul asked.

“Something’s not right,” Jack said.

A flash of lightning cracked overhead.

The vehicle’s xenon high beams popped on, pointing right at them.

Lian shouted, “Run!”

* * *

A flash of lightning illumined the three figures standing on the expressway.

All four North Koreans saw them, but it was the section chief in the front seat who shouted and pointed at them.

The driver popped the xenon high beams on and stomped the accelerator to the floorboard. The two men in back drew their pistols and checked mags just as the Sorento hit a puddle and the SUV hydroplaned.

A collective “Ah!” rose from the three men not driving, but the driver was too busy concentrating. He avoided the natural inclination to tap the brakes; instead, he took his foot off the accelerator and pointed the steering wheel at a dry patch farther up.

The section chief shouted, “Faster!”

“I can’t, sir! Too wet!”

The station chief cocked his pistol and held it to the driver’s head. “FASTER!”

72