The Target (22 page)

I
T WAS RAINING. EVEN IN
here Earl Fontaine could hear the drops colliding against the roof of the prison. He could hear the wind howling too. He snuggled more comfortably in his hospital bed. Now that it was over, he knew he could die a happy man. But then again, he might just hang on a little longer. He had a bed, a roof over his head, meds for the pain, three squares a day, even if they were in the form of liquid shot into his gut via a tube, and a good-looking personal doctor to look after him. Not a bad life, actually.

He glanced over at the bed once occupied by Junior. He smiled. He had no idea how such a moron had been able to kill so many people and elude capture for as long as Junior had. Earl had only had to call his “friend” and big Albert had been put on the case, first to hide the knife in Junior’s bed. Then it had been up to Earl to get the idiot to pull it out. Well, that had been easy enough. When Junior’s fingers had touched the knife, his fate had been sealed. Albert had been instructed on exactly what to do. Grab Junior, keep the knife clamped in his hand, pretend to struggle and then kill the little son of a bitch, and kill him good.

And if there was one thing Albert was good at, it was killing. Earl wondered if he had been the one designated to kill Sally. He hoped so. She would be dead as dead could be.

He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes as the rain continued to pound down. He slept for a while, figuring that a nap before his last round of meds would be good.

“Earl?” A hand grasped his shoulder. “Earl?” the voice said more urgently.

Earl slowly opened his eyes. He had been dreaming about the female doctor. It had been a damn fine dream. She had been naked and tied up and he was about to—

“What?” He blinked and slowly rolled over on his back to stare up into the face of the same male nurse he’d talked to before. “What is it? Time for my meds?”

He looked at the big clock on the wall. He’d only been asleep an hour. It wasn’t time for his medication. The rain was still falling outside and the wind made the old prison shudder under its assault.

Earl grimaced. “What’d you wake me up for? Ain’t time for my meds, boy, not by a long shot.” He was upset that his dream had been interrupted. He started to close his eyes once more.

The nurse shook him once more. “It’s not about your meds, Earl. You got a visitor. Well, visitors.”

Earl blinked more rapidly. “Visitors? It’s nighttime, boy. Ain’t no visitors allowed after dark. You know that.”

“Well, they’re here.”

“Who is?”

The nurse pointed to his left. “Them.”

Earl looked over, and when he saw them his heart almost stopped.

Jessica Reel and Will Robie stood there, their hair slicked down and their clothes dripping from the inclement weather they had just come through.

Earl sat up so fast one of his IV lines became tangled in his bedsheets.

The nurse disentangled it and stepped back. He looked at the expression on Earl’s features and then at the one on Reel’s and he said quickly, “I’ll…I’ll just let you folks visit, then.”

He turned and hurried off.

Reel stepped forward, with Robie right behind her.

“Sally?” said Earl. He attempted a grin, but it failed about halfway to his mouth. “What you be doing here, girl?”

“Just coming to say goodbye, Earl.”

“Hell, you already done that. Not that I ain’t glad to see you again.”

Reel ignored this as she stepped closer. “And I have something to show you too.” She slipped from her pocket a picture and held it out to him. “I think you’ll recognize him even if he looks a little pale.”

Earl put out a shaky hand and took the photo from her. When he gazed down at the picture he immediately gasped.

“Albert, I think, is his name,” said Reel. “He’s dead, of course, but you should still be able to tell it’s him.”

“How did he die?” said Earl in a croaky voice.

“Oh, I guess I forgot to mention that. I killed him. Broke his neck. For such a big guy he went fast. Which was good for me. I had other pretend-Nazis to deal with.”

Gaping, Earl looked up at her, his eyes wide. “You done killed him? Him!”

“I don’t think I ever told you what I do now, Earl. On behalf of the American people I take scum like Albert and make sure they never hurt anyone ever again. Like this bastard.”

She pulled another picture from her jacket and dropped it on Earl’s belly. He took it with a trembling hand, his face the color of ash.

“This is one of your buddies too. Leon Dikes. I knew him a long time ago. We recently got together. At his insistence. Apparently he was hanging around the prison and coincidentally saw me when I came to visit you. Talk about a small world.”

Earl looked up into her face. “Did you kill him too?”’

Reel made a rough oval with her hands and then ripped them apart. “Highly effective move. Death is instant. Before he died Leon sent his regards and told you he was sorry your plan didn’t work.”

Earl dropped the photo like it was a snake about to bite him. “Ain’t know what you talkin’ ’bout.”

“Sure you do, Earl. Don’t back away from the credit for all this now. It really was very clever, and I don’t give compliments easily, I can assure you.”

“You making no sense. Now, you got nothing else, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Well, I think your nap will have to wait.”

“Why’s that?” snapped Earl, his confidence returning. “You got nothing or else you woulda done brought the cops with you. What they gonna do to me anyway? Arrest me? Put me in jail? Shit!” He laughed until he choked.

“No, no police. No new charges. The old ones will suffice.”

“So like I said, get your ass gone. I need my rest.”

“But you’re doing great. A lot healthier than you were.”

He sat up straighter. “What the hell you talking ’bout? I got terminal cancer. I ain’t getting better.”

“Yeah, but there’s more to it than that.”

She pointed to her right. Earl looked that way and saw the female prison doctor striding toward them.

“Dr. Andrews, thank you for coming in tonight,” said Reel.

Andrews gave a forced smile. “My pleasure. Wouldn’t have missed it, actually.”

Reel said to Earl, “I explained to Dr. Andrews her role in getting you and me back together. And also how that led to a very nice visit with your good friend Leon Dikes and his group of merry neo-Nazi freaks.”

“Yes, it was fascinating, Mr. Fontaine,” said Dr. Andrews, who looked like she wanted to pull a gun and fire a round right into Earl’s brain.

“I ain’t got no idea what you two gals are jabbering ’bout,” said Earl. “No idea a’tall.”

“Well, let’s see if I can make it crystal-clear for you,” said Reel. “First, Dr. Andrews has some terrific news for you.”

Earl looked at Andrews. “What news?”

“While your cancer is still terminal, it’s been determined that your condition has stabilized.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That means that you can leave the hospital ward and this prison. You’re being sent back to solitary confinement on death row.”

Earl’s face collapsed. “But they can’t execute me.”

Andrews smiled. “Unfortunately, that’s true, but you can be cared for there, although I have to say it won’t be nearly as pleasant as here. And you will have no human contact with anyone other than the prison personnel.”

“You…you can’t do that,” Earl protested.

“Well, actually we can,” said another voice.

A man in a suit walked in with four beefy guards behind him.

“What the hell is he doing here?” exclaimed Earl.

Reel looked behind her. “The warden of this fine facility and his men are here to take care of your transfer back to death row at the Holman Correctional Facility.”

There was a flash of lightning at the barred window, followed by a vicious crack of thunder.

The warden waved his men forward. “Just roll the bed and all right out. The transport vehicle is waiting.”

“You can’t do this,” sputtered Earl. “You can’t.”

“Get him out of here,” ordered the warden. “Now!”

The guards unhooked Earl’s shackles from the wall and rolled his bed, with him screaming his head off, out of the room. They heard his shouts for another minute before a heavy door clanged shut and then Earl Fontaine was heard no more.

Reel turned to the warden and Andrews. “Thank you,” she said.

“No, thank
you
,” said Andrews. “To think that bastard used me to…to try and accomplish all these horrific things.”

“Damn right,” said the warden. “We might not be able to execute him. But we can make whatever time he has left as unpleasant as legally possible. And we will.” He marched off.

Andrews said, “When I got your call I really couldn’t believe it. I thought I was helping a father find his daughter. I should have known that Earl Fontaine was a man who didn’t care about that.”

“He took a lot of people in, Doc,” said Reel.

“But never again,” said Robie.

“No, never again,” added Reel.

After thanking Andrews again for her help, they turned and left the prison.

“Feel better?” asked Robie when they climbed into the car after running across the parking lot as the rain continued to pour.

“Actually, Robie, I don’t feel anything. And maybe that’s for the best.”

Robie put the car in gear and they left the Alabama prison, and with it Earl Fontaine, behind forever.

T
HE NORTH KOREANS HAD NO
facility like the Burner Box. They didn’t have the budget for it. No country spent what the Americans did on defense or internal security. But Chung-Cha felt like they made up with effort and dedication what they lacked in funding.

She ran through the streets of Pyongyang until she could run no more. And then she kept going. The State Security Department had a generic gymnasium facility where she built up her strength. They had shooting ranges deep underground where she worked on her aim, reaction time, and motor skills in the use of all sorts of firearms and other weapons. There, against only men who were far larger and stronger than she was, she drilled on certain close-quarter combat techniques, some of which she had employed to subdue Lloyd Carson in Romania.

Her training wasn’t only physical. She could speak fluent English as well as three other languages.

But what she really excelled at, in addition to remaining calm under the most extreme circumstances, was martial arts. There had never been a man to beat her. Not even several of them. She attributed this to her time at the camp. To survive the camp took herculean toughness. But that was not enough. To survive the camp and keep your human spirit, your belly fire, was nearly impossible. She had accomplished the impossible. And to survive the camp one had to think ten moves ahead. She had become adept at that. The same held true for the martial arts. She not only outfought her opponents, she outthought them as well.

Her department had spent much time and money in developing her ability to attack superior numbers and come away victorious. It was a combination of original tactics, superlative fighting skills, and the ability to assess and take risks, often turning a disadvantage into an advantage. She had shown that when confronted with the administrator and the prison guards. She had turned the strengths of her opponents into weaknesses and she had never stopped moving or fighting. It was as if her mind and her body were a single unit.

She returned to her apartment tired, but satisfied that her skill level remained undiminished. She was aware that with the upcoming mission she would be pitted against the best security detail in the world. She knew that the U.S. Secret Service was widely regarded as invincible, all agents willing to die to protect whomever they were guarding. But they had lost protectees in the past, so they weren’t infallible. Still, it would probably be her greatest challenge.

She ate her rice and drank her tea and listened to country music on the iPod that the Supreme Leader had given her. She looked out the window for the man who had been there every day. He was still there. It was as though he didn’t care now if she knew he was there or not. That actually said a lot to her.

In North Korea it was said that alliances were as fragile as ice on a hot day.

She left her apartment and got into her car. It was ten years old but still serviceable. And it was hers. Until they took it away, which they could at any time. And depending on how the next mission turned out, that time might soon be coming.

She drove out of Pyongyang. She checked her rearview mirror and was not surprised to see a black sedan following her. She drove slowly, well under the speed limit. She was in no hurry. She had no intention of losing whoever was back there.

Her trip would take her roughly seventy miles northeast of the capital into a mountainous part of South Hamgyong province, bisected by the Ipsok River valley.

The official name of where she was heading was Kwan-li-so Number 15. But most people simply called it Yodok. It was a labor camp or concentration camp or penal colony; Chung-Cha did not care which term was used. It all amounted to the same thing.

People taking away the freedom of other people.

For years she had had another name for it: home.

Like other labor camps, Yodok was comprised of two parts: the total control zone from which prisoners were never released, and the revolutionary zone, where prisoners were punished, reeducated, and eventually released. The camp was about one hundred and fifty square miles in size and had about fifty thousand prisoners. Electric fences and over a thousand guards made sure that no one left of their own volition.

Chung-Cha did not believe there was corruption at Yodok. The guards there seemed to do their duty with barbaric joy. At least they had when she was there. And she was still the only prisoner from the total control zone ever voluntarily released. But that release had come with a heavy price, perhaps heavier than if she had tried to escape.

That was why she was here today, to relive this part of her life. Well, that was only partly true. It took special permission to do this, which she had requested and received. Those granting that permission understood her to be coming here to pay homage to those who had allowed her freedom, in exchange for her lifelong commitment to serve her country. At least that had been the original intent. Then she had convinced those more powerful than her that there should be another reason. And that she was the ideal person to implement this plan. She had had no guarantee that permission would be granted, but it had been. The necessary papers documenting this rode in her inner pocket. The august signatures on the papers would brook no opposition.

She parked near the gate and was met there by two guards and the administrator. Chung-Cha knew this man well. He had been the administrator when she was a prisoner there.

He bowed to her with respect and she returned the bow. Her gaze never left his face as they each straightened. In his burnt, wrinkled countenance she saw the one man she had dreamt of killing for most of her life. She knew that he knew this. But now he was powerless to harm her anymore. Yet there was the way his lip curled back, exposing one misshapen tooth, that made Chung-Cha understand quite clearly that he would dearly love to have her back here and in his power.

“It is an honor to have you here, Comrade Yie,” he said.

“The Supreme Leader sends his best wishes to you, Comrade Doh,” replied Chung-Cha, making the point of exactly where she was at this stage in her life.

Doh blinked rapidly behind his thick glasses and his smile was as false as his next words. “It does my heart good to see how far you have risen, Comrade Yie.”

He escorted her through the gate and into the prison compound.

Although Chung-Cha had been gone from this place for many years now, much of it had not changed at all. The huts where the prisoners lived were still made of mud with straw roofs. As she peered inside one she saw the boards with blankets on them representing a prisoner’s bed. There were forty of them in a room that was only about five hundred square feet in size. The huts were not heated and they were not clean, thus disease was rampant. She had heard the administrator say once when she was here that such widespread fatal epidemics saved them the price of bullets.

She stopped in front of one hut. She did so for a particular reason. This had been “her” hut, where she had lived for years. She glanced over at Doh and saw that he too remembered this.

“You have indeed risen far,” he said, his fake smile broadening across his tanned features.

He was a pureblood, she knew, a member of the very elite core group. His grandfather had been one of Kim Il Sung’s earliest and most ardent supporters. For that he and his family had been forever rewarded greatly. For the grandson it meant he got to play God with the lives of hundreds of thousands of his fellow citizens over the years, determining who got to live and, far more often, who died.

“I am still the only one,” she said back.

“Still,” he conceded snidely, “it must have seemed a miracle for you.”

“For you too,” she shot back.

He bowed again.

She waited for him to straighten before adding, “The Supreme Leader believes that this is a shame. He wants to know why more are not capable of being converted.”

This had been the other reward that Chung-Cha had requested and been given for her part in exposing the treachery of General Pak. The power to come here and make these sorts of inquiries. And she had been granted something else.

She looked expectantly at Doh, who had obviously not been anticipating this. She saw a vein in his temple begin to throb, and his hand shook as he raised it to his face to adjust his glasses.

“The Supreme Leader believes?” he said, his voice shaking. The guards with him took a few steps backward, as though to distance themselves from whatever repercussions might befall the man.

Chung-Cha reached into her pocket and produced the authorizing documents. Doh took them, adjusted his glasses again, and read through them before meekly handing them back.

“I understand. The Supreme Leader is wise beyond his years. It is an honor to do his bidding.”

“I’m sure. But let us get down to it. I was in the total control zone. I was not core, or wavering. I was in the hostile class, Comrade Doh. And now I am acknowledged as one of the most valuable assets we have. Perhaps there are other such assets here, but going to waste. The Supreme Leader does not like waste.”

“No, no, of course not. I…what would you have me do, Comrade Yie? Please, you have but to name it and it shall be done.”

Chung-Cha looked the man over. He was far smaller and weaker-looking than she remembered. To a little girl whose very life or death depended on the daily mood of this person and his underlings, he might as well have been a giant. Now, though, he was nothing to her.

“I want to look over some of the hostiles. The girls in particular.”

“Girls?” he repeated in a bewildered tone that matched his expression.

“Yes. The Supreme Leader understands quite clearly how useful females can be in certain areas of service. Much more so than males, who are more easily identified and targeted as potential enemies of other countries. Do you understand?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, of course, I can see that.”

Chung-Cha added, “And I want you to show me some of the more interesting prospects.”

He nodded again. “Yes, yes. I will take you myself.”

“I’m sure you will,” she said without smiling.

He did not seem to grasp the significance of what she had said. He was a cruel, cagey, and evil man; that she knew. But he was also petty, vain, and shallow. And such a person could never attain brilliance or even acuity no matter how hard he tried.

“And I will be sure to communicate your excellent level of cooperation.”

“Oh, thank you, Comrade Yie. Thank you, you have no idea what that means to me.”

“On the contrary, I have
every
idea.”

He looked a bit put off by this statement but regained his composure and said, “Um, by
interesting
you mean…?”

“By that, Comrade, I mean someone like
me
.”