The Midas Legacy (Wilde/Chase 12) (48 page)

Another colossal fireball lit up the night as the missile blew apart. The blast shredded trees into splinters and tore a crater out of the hillside, a stretch of road a hundred feet long sliding into the inferno in the transporter’s wake.

The rocket’s fall threw the already unstable TEL wildly off balance, slamming the soldier clinging to its front against the cab. He dropped his rifle, the Type 58 bouncing along the road – then the transporter lurched violently back upright. The Korean was flung into the blazing forest. Toppling trees smashed down on top of him.

The driver’s foot was still jammed on the brake. The reeling transporter skidded, slewing sideways before juddering to a halt just short of another bend.

The lurch finally cost Eddie his hold on the winch. He fell, landing hard and bowling towards the drop—

He caught a white marker stone, stopping with his legs hanging over the precipice. Aching, winded, he lay still for several seconds as his dizziness subsided.

The crackle of burning trees and the thrum of the transporter’s idling engine masked another sound until it was almost upon him. He looked up at a crunch of grit – to see a pair of combat boots just a few feet away.

One of them swung at him—

He jerked up an arm to protect his head. The kick caught his elbow with punishing force, knocking him backwards over the edge. He clawed at the dirty ground, fingers closing around a stone embedded in the earth just before he fell.

The TEL’s driver loomed over him, silhouetted by the truck’s lights. He had a pistol in one hand, but although he could have simply shot the defenceless Englishman, he had a more sadistic fate in mind.

His foot came down upon Eddie’s knuckles.

Eddie gasped at the pain, the driver shifting ever more weight on to his hand. Then suddenly it was gone, but he knew the relief was just the briefest prelude before the man’s boot stamped down again—

‘Hey! Drop it!’

The shout came from behind the soldier. Nina had jumped from the transporter and retrieved the rifle, aiming it at the Korean.

The man whirled—

She shot him before he could even raise his gun. He fell past Eddie and disappeared down the hillside below.

‘Eddie!’ Nina ran to him, dropping the gun and pulling him up. ‘Oh God, oh my God! I thought I’d lost you.’ She held him tightly, tears running down her cheeks with the sudden release of emotion. ‘Idiot! Jumping from a plane . . .’

Eddie managed a strained laugh as he hugged her. ‘Yeah, okay, it could’ve gone better. But you weren’t exactly Mrs Sensible either.’ He looked over her shoulder at the TEL, the empty crane now fully elevated. Beyond it, the night sky was aglow with the light of the burning forest. ‘Why did you raise the missile? That’s insane!’

‘It was an accident! I was trying to lower those jacks to stop the truck.’

‘That’s only a bit less insane! But it worked, I suppose.’

‘And we’re both still alive.’ She stood, helping him to his feet. ‘The explosion took out the road behind us, so nobody can follow.’

Eddie looked across the valley. The SUV, troop truck and last remaining TEL were distant sparks in the blackness as they approached the airbase. ‘There’s only one way we can go, though – down there.’

‘I know.’ Nina sighed grimly. ‘Great. So we’ve got another kamikaze mission, then?’

‘The first one’s always the hardest,’ he said with a wry, tired grin. ‘The next one’s a doddle.’ He faced the transporter again. ‘It won’t be safe to drive like that. How did you lift the crane?’

‘There’s a control panel at the back.’

‘Okay, do the opposite of whatever you did and bring it back down again. I’ll get it ready to go.’ He collected the rifle, then they went to the two ends of the TEL.

Without the huge weight of the missile upon them, the erector arms lowered considerably faster than they had risen. One had been buckled by the falling rocket, preventing it from returning to its bed. ‘That’ll have to do,’ Eddie called to Nina as it ground against the transporter’s side. She shut it down, then ran to join him as he put the truck back into gear and revved the engine. ‘You ready?’

She looked down at the airfield. The remnants of Kang’s convoy had arrived at the great white cross of the Antonov, ready to load the last missile aboard the giant aircraft. A nod, with a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘Let’s finish this.’

45

Colonel Kang watched with angry impatience as the transporter backed towards the Antonov. The enormous Russian cargo aircraft had opened the clamshell rear doors beneath its tail and lowered a ramp to the runway, but the TEL was not preparing to drive inside. Instead, it was positioning itself beneath the rails running the length of the cavernous hold’s ceiling so the missile could be winched up and transferred to a waiting cradle. So huge was the An-124 that it could easily accommodate all three rockets with plenty of room to spare for the ancillary equipment that was also going to their Saudi buyers . . . but this one would be making the trip alone. A second explosion from the mountain had told the Korean that another missile had been destroyed.

The Arabs wouldn’t be happy about that, but as Mikkelsson had pointed out, the Hwasong-15s themselves were the least valuable and most easily replaced part of the weapon system. The
most
valuable parts were being loaded aboard right now, Captain Sek and his men taking the trio of warheads and their plutonium cores to the front of the hold. The soldiers would travel with them to Saudi Arabia to ensure that the nuclear materials arrived as agreed – and also to guard them with their lives in case the Russian aircrew had been co-opted by the CIA, or simply decided to hold the bombs ransom. Trust of outsiders was a rare thing in North Korea.

Kang had decided to take the flight himself. Part of his reasoning was to oversee the transfer personally and make sure nothing else went wrong. A second part was his desire to stay away from his superiors in Pyongyang for as long as possible; the obliteration of Facility 17 by foreign spies was a failure that could lead to an instant execution – or, if he had displeased the Supreme Commander sufficiently, a prolonged and agonising one. At the very least, successfully transferring the surviving missile and all three warheads to the Saudis, and returning with their payment, might keep him alive.

The third part of the cargo was being loaded by a forklift. Two wooden crates contained some of Mikkelsson’s gold bars. ‘Now, you
will
keep them safe, won’t you?’ asked the Icelander from beside him.

‘Of course,’ Kang replied. ‘As safe as if they were my own.’

Mikkelsson gave him a small smile. ‘I am glad we were able to reach an agreement.’ He was holding the small Crucible. A close examination of the dense crystal had reassured him that there was nothing that could be used to track its location, while the undoubtedly bugged carrying case had been discarded. ‘If you wish, I will arrange for an associate of mine to meet you in Saudi Arabia. He can take care of any financial transactions you may wish to make. For a modest percentage.’

The colonel nodded. ‘That would be very helpful, yes. And . . . a Swiss bank account?’

‘He can assist you with that too.’

‘Good. Good.’ Kang glanced across at the small jet that the ashen-faced Sarah was boarding. A pair of soldiers strained to lift a box holding more gold bars aboard. ‘Your wife,’ he said, more out of a sense of obligation to his benefactor than any particular interest in her well-being. ‘Will she be all right? The news about your daughter . . .’

‘Sarah will be fine,’ Mikkelsson replied. ‘In time. As will I.’ His jaw muscles tightened with restrained emotion.

‘My condolences,’ said the Korean dispassionately. He turned back to the Antonov. Several chains had been attached to the missile, the aircraft’s internal hoist lifting it from the TEL. He was about to order the Russians to speed up the process when his driver called to him from the nearby SUV. ‘What is it?’

‘Colonel, an urgent message from the airfield’s perimeter guards,’ the man replied.

‘I will let you take care of it,’ said Mikkelsson. ‘I assume we have clearance to leave?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Kang told him with a dismissive wave.

‘Then I shall bid you goodbye. Thank you, Colonel. It has been a pleasure doing business with you.’ The tall blond man headed to the jet.

Kang took the radio handset. ‘What is it?’

‘Sir,’ said the soldier at the other end of the line, ‘a missile transporter is coming down the mountain road.’

‘What?’ Surely it had been destroyed?

‘It’s about a kilometre away. What do you want us to do?’

‘Does it still have a missile aboard?’

A pause, then: ‘No, sir. It’s coming very quickly, though.’

An unpleasant realisation struck Kang, echoing his own desire to avoid facing his superiors. If his men were still in control of the transporter, the last thing they would do after allowing their cargo to be destroyed was rush to tell him. ‘Under no circumstances are you to let that vehicle through the perimeter!’ he snapped. ‘Use all means necessary to stop it. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly, sir,’ came the reply.

Kang tossed the handset back into the SUV and hurried to the Antonov. ‘Get this thing aboard, now! Move faster!’

The loadmaster overseeing the operation was Russian. He might not have understood Korean, but the officer’s urgency was clear. ‘What is rush?’ he asked in halting English.

‘We are under attack!’ Kang growled in kind. ‘We must leave, fast. Tell the pilot to start the engines. We go when the missile is aboard!’

‘No, no,’ said the loadmaster, shaking his head. ‘Missile has to be secured, yes? Cargo strapped down. All safety checks, pre-flight checks, you know? Take twenty minute, thirty minute.’

The colonel drew his sidearm and pushed the muzzle into the other man’s stomach. ‘We go when the missile is aboard,’ he repeated.

The Russian went pale. ‘Okay . . .’ he said slowly. ‘Three minute?’

The transporter thundered down the road, sweeping around the last of the hillside’s curves on to the relatively flat ground leading to the airbase. Without the missile’s weight, the TEL was considerably more responsive, though it would never break any speed records.

It was still not fast enough for Eddie’s liking, either. ‘Shit! They’ve got the fucking thing loaded,’ he said. Beyond the perimeter fence he could see the runway, the Antonov at its far end. Even from this distance, it was clear that the missile was no longer on the transporter.

‘Look!’ said Nina. Flashing lights on the runway turned out to belong to the jet that had brought them to North Korea as it accelerated to take-off speed. Seconds later it was airborne, banking hard to turn north. ‘Dammit! There goes our ride.’

‘I wasn’t really expecting they’d give us a lift home,’ said Eddie before returning his focus to the rapidly approaching checkpoint. ‘Oh, bollocks.’

‘What is it?’

‘The unwelcoming committee!’ Armed men were dragging concrete blocks in front of the gate, a dazzling searchlight turning towards the TEL.

Nina raised a hand to block the glare. ‘I don’t suppose this windshield is bulletproof?’

‘Nope, found that out the hard way.’

‘So what do we do?’

Eddie dropped down through the gears. ‘This thing’s got sixteen wheels – so it’s a four-by-four-by-four!’

He swung the transporter hard to the right, cutting diagonally across a patch of rough open ground towards the fence. Realising their target was going to avoid the roadblock, the soldiers opened fire. Nina and Eddie ducked as bullets clanged against the truck’s side. The rear door’s window shattered behind the Englishman. He winced, but held his foot on the accelerator. More rounds struck home, but now the fence loomed in the headlights. ‘Hold on!’

The transporter crashed through the barrier, mowing down support poles and shredding the chain-link. Coils of razor wire lashed like whips at the cab, the windscreen cracking – then they were clear. Eddie turned the vehicle towards the runway’s end. Bullets were still plunking off its flank, but the checkpoint was already falling away behind them.

He sat up, seeing the white-and-blue Antonov in the distance. The other TEL had now moved away from it, ground crew doing the same. ‘The bloody thing’s getting ready for take-off.’

‘How can we stop it?’ Nina asked. ‘Block the runway?’

‘If we stop, we’ll get shot, and they’ll just drive the truck away. We’ve got to take out the whole plane.’

‘How?’ She held up one of the dead crew’s Type 58 rifles. ‘Shoot it with this? It’d be like a mosquito trying to take down an elephant!’

Eddie stared at the freighter, a memory of a similar situation coming to him. ‘Take the wheel,’ he said, opening his door.

‘What are you doing?’

He waved for her to move into his place. ‘Something really stupid.’

‘Oh, so business as usual, then?’

He grinned, then clambered out on to the top step to make his way around the front of the cab.

Kang looked on as the missile was lowered, with agonising slowness, into its waiting cradle. Two other spaces sat empty alongside it. The various cases containing the three warheads and their plutonium spheres had been secured at the front of the hold along with numerous crates of equipment and spare parts – and the gold. The two wooden boxes formed a miniature barricade beside the missile’s nose. He gave them a greedy look before turning to the loadmaster. ‘How long? Hurry!’

‘Soon, soon,’ the nervous Russian assured him. He called out to another crew member at the winch controls, who responded with a helpless shrug. ‘Very soon.’

A soldier hurried into the hold. ‘Sir! The transporter just smashed through the fence. It’s coming straight at us.’

The colonel ran to a side hatch and looked out. Headlights were visible in the distance. ‘Shit!’ he growled, hurrying back to the loadmaster. The missile was now in its cradle, the chains going slack. ‘We take off now!’

‘No, no!’ protested the Russian. ‘Not safe! Have to fix straps, chain down—’

‘Do it on the move.’ Kang shouted an order. The other soldiers in the hold instantly responded by snapping their rifles to firing position, all aiming at the loadmaster. ‘Tell the pilots to take off
now
, or I kill you.’ He switched to Korean to issue another command to Sek. ‘Take three men and get up to the cockpit. I want this plane moving in the next sixty seconds.’

The captain saluted, then he and three of his team raced for the ladder to the Antonov’s upper deck at the rear of the hold. Kang faced the loadmaster again. ‘Well? Do it!’

The Russian licked his dry lips, then shakily drew a walkie-talkie from his belt.

Eddie reached the winch. He let out a few feet of steel cable and supported the hook on one shoulder, then looped the line around its shank. Once it was secure, he started up the winch again, unspooling more cable and collecting it into long coils.

‘What are you doing?’ Nina shouted over the engine’s roar.

‘We’ve got to make sure the warheads never get out of here!’ he yelled back.

‘How?’ One terrifying solution came to her. ‘You . . . you want to crash into the plane?’

‘We could, but that’d be a bit bad for us too! And we might not even do enough damage; it’s a big-arse plane. But if it gets into the air and then comes straight back down again, really hard . . .’ He stopped the winch, estimating that he had enough slack in the cable to work with, then glanced over his shoulder. ‘Buggeration and fuckery!’

Nina saw the cause of his alarm. ‘It’s setting off!’ The Antonov had left its parking position, heading for the taxiway. It was apparently leaving in a hurry, the aft clamshell doors open and the rear ramp still being raised.

Eddie quickly clambered back to the driver’s side of the cab, hanging the heavy steel loops from one of the roof’s spotlights and signalling for Nina to move over. She slid sideways, her husband climbing in to take her place. ‘Whatever you’re planning, it might be a good time to rethink it,’ she said nervously.

‘Same plan, just a bit more dangerous. And by a bit, I mean loads. If I can lasso the landing gear before it takes off, it’ll drag the transporter with it. It might be a big plane, but this truck’s pretty chunky too; having it hanging off the wheels’ll seriously fuck up its aerodynamics and hopefully make it crash. I was going to put the cable across the runway and try to catch it as it went past, but now we’ll have to chase it.’

‘Which means,’ Nina said unhappily, ‘we’ll both have to be
in
the transporter when the plane takes off.’

He gave her a look of grim resignation, putting one of his hands on hers. ‘Yeah. I know.’

She stared sadly ahead, seeing not the aircraft but an indelible image from her own mind. ‘Goodbye, Macy,’ she whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek.

There was nothing he could say in response to that. Instead he angled the TEL to intercept the aircraft, the transporter jolting over the rough expanse of grass. ‘Okay, you take over again,’ he said. ‘I’ll climb out and get ready to chuck the cable. Come alongside the plane, and get as close as you can to the wheels.’

They hurriedly made another seat swap, Eddie clambering back on to the step and closing the door behind him. The plane grew ever larger. ‘Damn, that thing
is
big,’ Nina said.

Eddie couldn’t disagree. The An-124’s high-mounted wings and broad belly gave it a hulking, overbearing appearance, a towering bully straight from the Cold War. Adding to the impression was its undercarriage; rather than separate sets of landing gear spread out beneath the fuselage, as on an airliner, the Antonov went for brute strength, five massive double-tyred legs in a row on each side of its hull. It even had two sets of nose wheels rather than just one.

All the better, as far as he was concerned. The more wheels, the more chance he had of snagging one. ‘Okay!’ he shouted as the transporter bounded over a drainage ditch on to the taxiway. ‘Catch up with it!’

Nina swung the TEL around – discovering that its twelve-wheel steering system turned it more sharply than she’d expected. Eddie yelped as centrifugal force threw him outwards, the looped cable shimmying around the spotlight. ‘Careful!’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she snapped. ‘I should have been learning how to drive a truck rather than raising a child!’

He smiled. ‘Love you too.’ Steadying himself, he collected the coils of cable and looked up at the Antonov. ‘Wow, the last time I chased a massive jet along a runway, I was in a Ferrari . . .’