electronics into the local pipeline. If anyone had told him that the young smuggler would eventually become his most valuable asset, Tang wouldn’t have believed it. But at this moment, that’s exactly what he was. Hyun Su was their lifeline.
The team had hiked five kilometers in from the coast and had dug into a hide site just before daybreak. They rotated the watch. As the team leader, Jimi Fordyce went first. No one spoke and they kept all movement to a bare minimum. When Hyun Su arrived at the rendezvous point that night, he was right on time. Only after Tang had checked everything out and had given them the all clear did the camouflaged SEALs reveal themselves.
After they had been secreted in the back of the truck, Tang and Hyun Su climbed into the cab. They were both dressed in the peasant clothing seen throughout the country—a black Mao cap, baggy cotton trousers, and a loose-fitting tunic.
Hidden beneath his tunic, Tang carried a four-and-a-half-inch-long, razor-sharp CRKT knife called the Otanashi noh Ken, which meant “Silent Sword” in Japanese. It was a deep-concealment folding blade that had been created for the Special Operations community by famed knife-maker and close-quarters combatives expert James Williams. Designed for maximum penetration through clothing, it was small enough to be hidden, but long enough to reach critical organs and finish the job. The Otanashi noh Ken had one purpose and one purpose only—to kill as quietly as possible.
While firearms were excellent tools for rapidly killing one or multiple targets, there was no way to totally silence a firearm. Even a suppressed pistol emitted a muffled pop when fired. That was why Billy Tang preferred knives. They were completely silent. Only the victim made any noise, and that could be mitigated if you knew what you were doing.
That didn’t mean firearms didn’t have their place in Tang’s toolbox. Tucked into the door pocket next to him was a full-sized 9mm SIG Sauer P226 Tactical Operations pistol with a SWR Trident 9 suppressor. The five-hour drive would take them into parts of the country he had never been before. They had no idea who or what they would encounter.
In addition to his weapons, Tang had come armed with a stack of currency, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, a carton of cigarettes, and three Playboy magazines. In the DPRK, those items were equivalent to a small fortune. If they found themselves in a tough situation, Tang’s goal was to bribe their way out of it. They were behind enemy lines. Shooting was to be avoided at all costs. The minute one police officer or soldier went missing was the same minute the alarm bells would start ringing.
Their objective was to get in and get out without the North Koreans ever knowing they had been there.
As Hyun Su fired up the engine of his truck, Tang looked him over once more. He was transporting foreign soldiers—a death penalty offense—yet he appeared completely calm. No, Tang thought. Not calm. Content. This was his way of getting even.
The young smuggler had no idea who the men were or why they were here, but judging by their appearance, he had probably guessed that they weren’t friends of the regime in Pyongyang. That was all that mattered to him.
Hyun Su’s only job was to drop them off and pick them up. So far, so good, thought Tang. If everything else went this smoothly, they’d be back in the United States in a matter of days.
But Tang knew all too well that the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry. In the darkness of the cab, he reached for his SIG and wondered if this would be the trip where his good luck would finally run out.
CHAPTER 11
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USS FLORIDA
Harvath had been asleep for about four hours when the communications room sent for him. He could feel the submarine ascending toward the surface. “We picking somebody up?” he asked the young sailor maneuvering through the narrow hatchway in front of him.
“No, sir,” the sailor replied. “Dropping off.”
Something told Harvath he didn’t need to ask who was getting dropped off.
Moments later, via a secure satellite uplink, he had his answer.
“I hear you are looking for Khuram Hanjour,” said a voice from CIA headquarters in Northern Virginia. It belonged to the Agency’s Deputy Director, Lydia Ryan.
Believing the Agency needed more overhaul than could be handled by one person, President Porter had originally tapped Ryan to be a codirector, along with her