James Rollins - The Eye of God - A Sigma Force Novel

Gray listened to the loud voices as the driver shouted to the gate guards. The plan was to pose as reinforcements, sent from Pyongyang to beef up security here. The distant sirens of the city certainly added validity to that claim.

Footfalls and voices flanked the side of the truck, working their way toward the rear. It seemed the guards here were on edge, likely still being kept in the dark in regard to the situation downtown.

Suddenly the rear flap was tossed back. The beam of a flashlight speared inside, blinding them, giving them all a good excuse to shield their faces or turn away. Gray and Kowalski hunkered down closest to the cab, their pale faces blocked by the bodies of the others.

The guard splashed his light around, but after discovering only men and women wearing North Korean uniforms, he let the flap drop and headed back to his gatehouse.

With a grind of gears, the truck began moving again. It rolled slowly forward. Gray risked widening a rip in the bed’s tent fabric so he could peek out. The prison covered a hundred acres, all surrounded by high fencing topped with coils of razor wire. Guard towers rose every fifty yards. The facilities inside were a mix of squat cement-block buildings and row after row of wooden barracks.

Gray fingered the map in his hands. He had studied it with a penlight while traveling here. The interrogation center was not far from the main gate. Seichan was likely being held at that location.

But was she still there?

Their vehicle slipped through the outer gate and rolled across a no-man’s-land covered in hidden mines before reaching the second fence. This inner gate also trundled open to receive them.

The motorcycles led the way, followed by the truck, a Trojan horse on wheels. As they passed inside, the gates closed behind them.

There was no turning back now.

And getting in was the easy part.

Tarps were stripped from the floor, revealing their heavier armaments: machine guns, grenade launchers, even a 60 mm lightweight mortar.

Kowalski picked up one of the rocket launchers. He slung its long tube over his shoulder and gripped his assault rifle with his free hand.

“Now I feel properly dressed,” Kowalski said, his voice covered by the rumble of the truck.

The vehicle angled toward the interrogation center and parked in front of its entrance. The driver kept the engine running. With any luck, they could grab Seichan with a minimum of fuss or noise and leave the same way they had come, explaining they’d been recalled back to the city.

Zhuang poked his head out the rear flap, making sure everything looked clear. Apparently satisfied, he waved Gray and Guan-yin forward. They huddled together at the flap.

Gray studied the façade of the interrogation center. The cement-block building was one story and looked mostly dark at this late hour. They should be able to swiftly sweep it.

“Let’s go,” he said and hopped out.

With the truck blocking the view to the front door, they ran for the entrance. Other Triad members took up defensive positions around and even under the truck.

Gray reached the door and found it open. He slipped inside, did a fast sweep with his rifle, but spotted no one. He strained for any voices, but he heard nothing.

Guan-yin joined him. She looked pale, her jaw tense. Only then did he remember Seichan’s mother had spent a brutal year in a camp such as this in Vietnam. He noted the curled scar across her cheek and brow. From the way she jumped when Zhuang touched her elbow as he entered, that physical scarring was probably the least of her damage.

“According to my map,” Gray said, drawing her attention to the task at hand, “the holding cells and interrogation rooms are in the back.”

Guan-yin gave him a shaky nod.

The three of them set off in that direction, sweeping room by room. At the end of the corridor, a pool of light spilled from an open doorway.

Gray aimed for there, still straining for any noises.

The silence was beginning to unnerve him.

He reached the open door and peeked his head around to search the next room. It was a small space with chairs facing a large window that viewed into a neighboring chamber.

With care, Gray slipped inside and stared through the glass, likely a one-way mirror. The well-lit room beyond revealed a strange sight. Two men lay sprawled on the floor in matching pools of blood. One was a North Korean guard. Gray surmised the other was a lab tech based on the long white coat he was wearing.

Two others shared the space with the dead men and appeared to be locked inside. The pair strained to open the only door. Gray also noted the toppled metal stool on the floor below the window. They must have tried to shatter through the mirrored glass only to find it bulletproof.

Gray recognized one of the trapped men immediately, even with the bandage over his nose.

Hwan Pak.

The other stood taller, with a dark beard and Eurasian features. Gray remembered him from the streets of Macau, hauling Seichan into the Cadillac.

“Ju-long Delgado,” Guan-yin said as she stepped beside him.

Gray stared again at the dead men, recognizing Seichan’s handiwork.

“I think we have a problem,” he said, picturing the hundred-acre prison. “Your daughter escaped.”

To make matters worse, sirens suddenly sounded all around the camp, blaring loudly, accompanied by a loudspeaker barking orders.

Gray turned to Guan-yin.

They’d been discovered.

9:16 P.M.

Seichan lay in filth, despairing as the sirens erupted all around.

Earlier, she had crawled under one of the raised barracks to hide. The prison had been built in the swampy marshlands bordering the Taedong River, which regularly flooded its banks, requiring this stilt construction.

Unfortunately, that was as far as the planning went to keep the prisoners comfortable. There was no heat, little ventilation, and from the stink of ammonia and other rank smells, toilet facilities must be lacking above, too.

As she lay there for the past half hour, she listened to the muffled stir of humanity packed above: whispers, sobs, angrier outbursts, even the soft words of a mother comforting a child. Entire families were imprisoned here, condemned for reeducation, but mostly used as slave labor.

Anger burned through her. It was the only thing that kept her warm as the night had turned ever colder. She had chosen this spot so she would have a clear view of the main gate, hoping for some sign of Gray.

Moments ago, she had watched a dark green transport truck roll through the fence flanked by uniformed guards on motorcycles. They were bringing in reinforcements. Worse still, as the truck trundled into camp, it stopped in the shadow of the interrogation center with a wheeze of its brakes.

She cursed her luck.

Shortly after that, the sirens blew. She pictured the new arrivals discovering Pak and Ju-long locked in the torture chamber. Her escape was now known.

As the alarms continued to ring out, spotlights flared all along the fencing. The entire camp was being roused to find her.

She clutched her pistol, wondering where she could hide. She considered mixing with the general population, but surely someone would talk, point a finger at her in order to gain a small favor from the guards.

She began to sidle backward, away from the main gates, away from the brighter lights. Shadows were still her best defense.

Glancing toward the heart of the prison, she spotted the heavy tracks of a tank grinding through the muck. It was crossing from the depths of the camp toward the main gate, intending to close off any hope of escape that way.

She ran low for the next row of barracks and the shadows it afforded.

Moments ago, she had prayed for Gray to come.