Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

Point Noir sat close to the Congo/Angola border and had an airport. The MPS agents would have the advantage of just having to fly to the port city to overtake Chun. Good paved roads were few and far between in the Congo. The main highways out of Brazzaville snaked into the mountains and ended roughly one hundred miles away at Kinkala. It was a long, winding journey, but to try and head southwest on the lower route was too dangerous. The road there degenerated into a mud track after Moutampa and wound its precarious way into Zaire. The roads were better in Zaire, but Chun would have to pass through Angola to get to Point Noir. Longtime customers of the Korean trading company, the MPS agents could elicit help from the Angolan government. His best route was to follow the Congo railroad and head north to Mindouli, and then east towards the Point. If he did not deal with the MPS agents here, he would have to deal with them on the road into Point Noir. There, the agents would have the advantages of time, position and concealment.

Chun went upstairs to his bedroom. In a hatbox on the top shelf of his closet were a pair of French-made night vision goggles. One of his customers had given them to him in a gesture of gratitude. Chun had heard later that the man was killed in an abortive attempt at assassination on some insignificant third-world head of state. The webbing slipped easily over his head. Chun tugged at the straps to adjust the fit. With the press of a button, the room burst into green clarity. Now that he had eyes in the dark, he felt his chances of escape improve. The distant tingle of pre-battle rush began to course through his body.

In the back recesses of the closet was a small leather knapsack. It too was part of the plan. It contained four days’ rations and some basic medical supplies. In a small wax-sealed cigar tube in the bottom of the pack was his passport into the confidence of the Americans: a complete microfiche set of the blueprints to the Yongbyon complex and another set for the complex that they only suspected of existing at Pakchon. The second complex was dedicated to the processing of weapons-grade Plutonium. Chun slid the pack on his back and weighed his options. They were few, and the ones open to him were not pleasant. The old soldier worked the slide back on his pistol and chambered a round. He took one last look around the dim bedroom. So much of his life invested in this place and it all was going to be lost to him because of another man’s ambition. In the darkness at the top of the stairs, a decision was made. If he was to escape, he would have to terminate the assassination team. He was old. They were young and fit. Chances of his success were slim and there would be more blood on his hands, but this time it would be Korean blood. Sung would pay with his life for this treachery one day. Gun in hand, he moved back downstairs. They would come in the early hours of the morning, when all men were at their lowest ebb.

Chun snapped awake. He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. One thirty in the morning. He had fallen asleep. Unforgivable. He slid out of the kitchen chair and moved over to the kitchen window. The night vision goggles were slid over his eyes and clicked on. From his new vantage point, Chun could see no movement on the grounds or in the trees at the back of the property. Perhaps his killers were still in transit.

It was wishful thinking and he knew it. Chun opened the back door a crack and listened. When he was sure no threat waited for him, he stole out onto the veranda.

He cut across the lawn to a large work shed that stood on the rearmost corner of the property. The gardener kept his keys on a nail by the back door of the work garage. His battered Land Rover would be a lot less conspicuous and better suited for the journey to the coast than his big Mercedes. He scanned to the left and right as he crossed the huge expanse of lawn. Chun felt totally exposed. If the MPS team had night vision equipment as well, he would know about it very soon.

He neared the side of the garage and paused; something felt out of place. The side door was not closed all the way. His gardener was a meticulous man; all things in his universe had their rightful place and a door slightly ajar was not one of them. Chun thumbed the pistol safety off and moved slowly and deliberately closer to the offending door. Blood pounded in his ears as he strained to hear any sound out of place. This was the closest to real combat he’d been in sixty years. He fought his own body and struggled for the filter of calm. He stood by the garage’s side door and listened hard. Still no sound and then there it was, the faint scuff of a shoe on concrete, right beside the door. Chun swung the door open with a sharp push of his left hand, but he did not enter. The startled agent inside quickly fired three silenced shots at the open door. The bullets struck the door beside Chun’s head, showering him with splinters. Chun stepped into the doorway and shot the agent, dazzled by his own muzzle flash. He hit the agent twice in the chest before he could bring his gun to bear. The impacts staggered the man back against the Landrover before his knees gave out and he slid down to the ground. Chun looked at the dead man, not quite sure what he felt.

He lifted the car keys from the nail beside the door, got behind the Land Rover’s steering wheel and jammed the keys into the ignition. He had to move fast. Other MPS agents, like the corpse by his door, would be advancing on the garage. The old four-wheel drive roared to life, shattering the silence of the night. The gardener’s other passion was cars. The ancient Landrover, for all of its dilapidated appearance, had a perfect motor and running gears. Chun dropped it in first gear and drove through the closed garage door.

The agent who arrived at the front of the garage never knew what killed him. Chun, his forward vision blocked by the door debris, felt the body go under the wheels. The rest of the door fell away and he aimed the Landrover directly at the main gate. With a hard crunch, the Landrover went over the concrete curb and clawed its way across the villa’s perfect lawn. Another MPS agent appeared from inside the house and started to shoot at him as he sped away. The back window blew in, shattered by a lucky round. Chun pulled hard on the steering wheel. The Landrover fishtailed in a hard one hundred and eighty degree turn. The front of the vehicle now pointed at the veranda on the front of the house. Chunks of turf churned out from under the wheels as Chun pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

“Three men to kill just one old man; at least they still respect my abilities,” he thought.

The passenger-side window blew in, showering Chun with glass as another round found the Landrover. Chun did not swerve or waver. The front wheels of the Landrover hit the concrete steps with a crash. With a hefty bounce, the vehicle hurtled up the steps and struck the MPS agent. Chun looked out at the crumpled corpse’s draped arms outspread over the hood of his vehicle. His forehead felt wet. Chun wiped at it; his hand came away red. Glass from the side window must have cut him. It would have to wait. There was no time to dress the wound now.

Chun thundered down the road, the lights of the Landrover off. The night goggles would provide him with vision until he was far enough from Brazzaville. His body buzzed with the high of battle and escape. Not bad for an old dog. If all went well from here, he would be on the boat and underway in eight hours.

The smiling Chinese emissary signed the document before him and passed it to the South Korean diplomat for his signature. Under a blaze of lights, history was made once more, a friendship pact between two countries that a little over sixty years before had been bitter enemies. The event went virtually unnoticed in the west except in some of the trade news. Just another international trade deal but, then again, it was a busy news day. The elections in the United States were just over and the people were waiting to see what parts of his platform the new president would enact first. Great Britain and the rest of the European community were mired in their own problems and even Russia failed to take notice.